"GATH'S"  TALES 


California 

egional 

itcility 


BOHEMIAN   DAYS 


BOHEMIAN  DAYS 


American 


BY 

GEO.  ALFRED  TOWNSEND 

"  GA  TH  " 


"  And  David  arose  and  fled  to  Gath.  And  he  changed  his  behavior.  And 
every  one  that  was  in  distress,  and  every  one  that  was  in  debt,  and  every  one  that 
was  discontented  gathered  themselves  unto  him.  And  the  time  that  David  dwelt 
in  the  country  of  the  Philistines  was  a  full  year  and  four  months." 


H.  CAMPBELL  &  CO.,  Publishers, 
No.    21    PARK    Row, 

NEW  YORK. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1880, 

By  GEO.  ALFRED  TOWNSEND, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


THE  BURR  PRINTING  HOUSK 

AND  STEAM  TYPE-SETTING  OFFICE, 

Cor.  Frankfort  and  Jacob  Sis., 

NEW  VOKK. 


TO    TEN    FRIENDS   AT    DINNER, 

GILSEY    HOUSE,    NEW    YORK, 

APRIL  21,  1879 ; 

WHO  MADE  THIS  PUBLICATION 

A    PROMISE   AND   AN  OBLIGATION. 


PREFACE. 


So  far  from  the  first   tale  in  this  book   being  of  political 
motive,  it  was  written  among  the  subjects  of  it,  and  read  to 

several  of  them  in  1864.     Perhaps  the  only  souvenir  of  refugee 

^ 
and  "skedaddler"  life  abroad  during  the  war  ever  published, 

its  preservation  may  one  day  be  useful  in  the  socialistic 
archives  of  the  South,  to  whose  posterity  slavery  will  seem 
almost  a  mythical  thing.  With  as  little  bias  in  the  second 
tale,  I  have  etched  the  young  Northern  truant  abroad  during 
the  secession.  The  closing  tale,  more  recently  written,  in 
the  midst  of  constant  toil  and  travel,  is  an  attempt  to  recall 
an  old  suburb,  now  nearly  erased  and  illegible  by  the  ex 
tension  of  a  great  city,  and  may  be  considered  a  home 
American  picture  about  contemporary  with  the  European 
tales. 


CONTENTS. 


SHORT     NOVELS. 

THE  REBEL   COLONY   IN    PARIS 13 

MARRIED  ABROAD 99 

THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON 155 


CHORDS. 

BOHEMIA 9 

LITTLE  GRISETTE 93 

THE  PIGEON  GIRL 149 

THE   DEAD   BOHEMIAN 279 


BOHEMIA. 

THE  farther  I  do  grow  from  La  Boheme, 
The  more  I  do  regret  that  foolish  shame 

Which  made  me  hold  it  something  to  conceal, 
And  so  I  did  myself  expatriate  ; 

For  in  my  pulses  and  my  feet  I  feel 
That  wayward  realm  was  still  my  own  estate  ; 
Wise  wagged  our  tongues  when  the  dear  nights  grew 

late, 

And  quainter,  clearer,  rose  our  quick  conceits, 
And  pure  and  mutual  were  our  social  sweets. 
Oh  !  ever  thus  convivial  round  the  gate 

Of  Letters  have  the  masters  and  the  young 
Loitered  away  their  enterprises  great, 
Since  Spenser  revelled  in  the  halls  of  state, 

And  at  his  tavern  rarest  Jonson  sung. 


THE  REBEL  COLONY  IN  PARIS. 


THE  REBEL  COLONY   IN   PARIS. 


i. 


THE     EXILES. 

IN  the  latter  part  of  October,  1863,  seven  very  anx 
ious  and  dilapidated  personages  were  assembled  under 
the  roof  of  an  old,  eight-storied  tenement,  near  the 
church  of  St.  Sulpice,  in  the  city  of  Paris. 

The  seven  under  consideration  had  reached  the 
catastrophe  of  their  decline — and  rise.  They  had  met 
in  solemn  deliberation  to  pass  resolutions  to  that  effect, 
and  take  the  only  congenial  means  for  replenishment 
and  reform.  This  means  lay  in  miniature  before  a 
caged  window,  revealed  by  a  superfluity  of  light — a 
roulette-table,  whereon  the  ball  was  spinning  indus 
triously  from  the  practised  fingers  of  Mr.  Auburn 
Risque,  of  Mississippi. 

Mr.  Auburn  Risque  had  a  spotted  eye  and  a  bluishly 
cold  face  ;  his  fingers  were  the  only  movable  part  of 
him,  for  he  performed  respiration  and  articulation  with 
the  same  organ — his  nose  ;  and  the  sole  words  vouch 
safed  by  this  at  present  were  :  "  Black — black — black 
— white — black — white — white — black" — etc. 

The  five  surrounding  parties  were  carefully  noting 
upon  fragments  of  paper  the  results  of  the  experiment, 


14  THE  REBEL    COLONY  I.\'  PARIS. 

and  likewise  Master  Lees,  the  lessee  of  the  chamber — a 
pale,  emaciated  youth,  sitting  up  in  bed,  and  ciphering 
tremulously,  with  bony  fingers  ;  even  he,  upon  whom 
disease  had  made  auguries  of  death,  looked  forward  to 
gold,  as  the  remedy  which  science  had  not  brought, 
for  a  wasted  youth  of  dissipation  and  incontinence. 

They  were  all  representatives  of  the  recently  insti 
tuted  Confederacy.  Most  of  them  had  dwelt  in  Paris 
anterior  to  the  war,  and,  habituated  to  its  luxuiies, 
scarcely  recognized  themselves,  now  that  they  were 
forlorn  and  needy.  Note  Mr.  Fisgah,  for  example — a 
Georgian,  tall,  shapely  and  handsome,  with  the  gray 
hairs  of  his  thirtieth  year  shading  his  working  temples  ; 
he  had  been  the  most  envied  man  in  Paris  ;  no  woman 
could  resist  the  magnetism  of  his  eye  ;  he.was  almost 
a  match  for  the  great  Berger  at  billiards  ;  he  rode  like 
a  centaur  on  the  Boulevards,  and  counterfeited  Apollo 
at  the  opera  and  the  masque.  His  credit  was  good  for 
fifty  thousand  francs  any  day  in  the  year.  He  had 
travelled  in  far  and  contiguous  regions,  conducted  in 
trigues  at  Athens  and  Damascus,  and  smoked  his  pipe 
upon  the  Nile  and  among  the  ruins  of  Sebastopol. 
Without  principle,  he  was  yet  amiable,  and  with  his 
dashing  style  and  address,  one  forgot  his  worthlessness. 

How  keenly  he  is  reminded  of  it  now  !  He  cannot 
work,  he  has  no  craft  nor  profession  ;  he  knew  enough 
to  pass  for  an  educated  gentleman  ;  not  enough  to  earn 
a  franc  a  day.  He  is  the  protege  at  present  of  his 
washerwoman,  and  can  say,  with  some  governments, 
that  his  debts  are  impartially  distributed.  He  has  only 
two  fears — those  of  starvation  in  France,  and  a  sol 
dier's  death  in  America. 


THE  REBET.    COf.O A" Y  IN   PARIS,  15 


The  prospect  of  a  debtor's  prison  at  Clichy  has  long 
since  ceased  to  be  a  terror.  There,  he  would  be  se 
cure  of  sustenance  and  shelter,  and  of  these,  at  liberty, 
he  is  doubtful  every  day. 

Still,  with  his  threadbare  coat,  he  haunts  the  Casino 
and  the  Valentino  ot  evenings  ;  for  some  mistresses  of 
a  former  day  send  him  billets. 

He  lies  in  bed  till  long  after  noon,  that  he  may 
not  have  pangs  of  hunger  ;  and  has  yet  credit  for 
a  dinner  at- an  obscure  cremery.  When  this  last  confi 
dence  shall  have  been  forfeited,  what  must  result  to 
Pisgah  ? 

He  is  striving  to  anticipate  the  answer  with  this  ex 
periment  at  roulette  ;  for  he  has  a  "  system"  whereby 
it  is  possible  to  break  any  gambling  bank — Spa,  Baden, 
Wisbaden  or  Homburg.  The  others  have  systems  also, 
from  Auburn  Risque  to  Simp,  the  only  son  of  the  rich 
est  widow  in  Louisiana,  who  disbursed  of  old  in  Paris 
ten  thousand  dollars  annually. 

His  house  at  Passy  was  a  palace  in  miniature,  and  his 
favorite  a  tragedy  queen.  She  played  at  the  P'olies 
Dramatiques,  and  drove  three  horses  of  afternoons 
upon  the  Champs  Elys6es.  She  had  other  engage 
ments,  of  course,  when  Mr.  Lincoln's  "paper  block, 
ade"  stopped  Master  Simp's  remittances,  and  he  passed 
her  yesterday  upon  the  Rue  Rivoli,  with  the  Russian 
ambassador's  footman  at  her  back,  but  she  only  touched 
him  with  her  silks. 

Simp  studied  a  profession,  and  was  a  volunteer  coun 
sel  in  the  memorable  case  of  Jeems  Pinckney  against 
Jeems  Rutledge.  His  speech,  on  that  occasion,  occu 
pied  in  delivery  just  three  minutes,  and  set  the  court- 


1 6  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

room  in  a  roar.  He  paid  the  village  editor  ten  dollais 
to  compose  it,  and  the  same  sum  to  publish  it. 

"If  yoa  could  learn  it  for  me,"  said  Simp,  anx 
iously,  "  I  would  give  you  twenty  dollars." 

This,  his  first  and  last  public  appearance,  was  con 
ditional  to  the  receipt  from  his  mother,  of  six  thousand 
acres  of  land  and  eighty  negroes.  It  might  have  been 
a  close  calculation  for  a  mathematician  to  know  how 
many  black  sweat-drops,  how  many  strokes  of  the  raw 
hide,  went  into  the  celebrated  dinner  at  the  Maison 
Doree,  wherein  Master  Simp  and  only  his  lady  had 
thirty-four  courses,  and  eleven  qualities  of  wine,  and  a 
bill  of  eight  hundred  francs. 

In  that  prosperous  era,  his  inalienable  comrade  had 
been  Mr.  Andy  Plade,  who  now  stood  beside  him,  in 
tensely  absorbed. 

Of  late  Mr.  Plade's  affection  had  been  transferred 
to  Hugenot,  the  only  possessor  of  an  entire  franc  in 
the  chamber.  Hugenot  was  a  short-set  individual,  in 
pumps  and  an  eye-glass,  who  had  been  but  a  few  days 
in  the  city.  He  was  decidedly  a  man  of  sentiment. 
He  called  the  Confederacy  "  ow-ah  cause, "  and  claimed 
to  have  signed  the  call  for  the  first  secession  meeting 
in  the  South. 

He  asserted  frankly  that  he  was  of  French  extraction, 
but  only  hinted  that  he  was  of  noble  blood.  He  had 
been  a  hatter,  but  carefully  ignored  the  fact  ;  and, 
having  run  the  blockade  with  profitable  cargoes  fourteen 
times,  had  settled  down  to  be  a  respectable  trader 
between  Havre  and  Nassau.  Mr.  Plade  shared  much 
of  the  sentiment  and  some  of  the  money  of  this  illus 
trious  personage. 


THE   REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  1 7 

There  were  rumors  abroad  that  Plade  himself  had 
great,  but  embarrassed,  fortunes. 

He  was  one  of  the  hundred  thousand  chevalieis  who 
hail  the  advent  of  war  as  something  which  will  hide 
their  nothingness. 

"  I  knew  it,"  said  Auburn  Risque,  at  length,  pinch 
ing  the  ball  between  his  hard  palms  as  if  it  were  the 
creature  of  his  will.  "  My  system  is  good  ;  yours  do 
not  validate  themselves.  You  are  novices  at  gam 
bling  ;  I  am  an  old  blackleg."  It  was  as  he  had  said  ; 
the  method  of  betting  which  he  proposed  had  seemed 
to  be  successful.  He  staked  upon  colors  ;  never 
upon  numbers  ;  and  alternated  from  white  to  black 
after  a  fixed,  undeviating  routine. 

Less  by  experiment  than  by  faith,  the  others  gave 
up  their  own  theories  to  adopt  his  own.  They  resolved 
to  collect  every  available  sou,  and,  confiding  it  to  the 
keeping  of  Mr.  Risque,  send  him  to  Germany,  that  he 
might  beggar  the  bankers,  and  so  restore  the  Southern 
Colony  to  its  wonted  prosperity. 

Hugenot  delivered  a  short  address,    wishing    "the 
cause  "  good  luck,  but  declining  to  subscribe  anything. 
He  did  not  doubt  the  safety  of  "  the  system"  of  course,- 
but  had  an  hereditary  antipathy  to  gaming.     The  pre 
cepts  of  all  his  ancestry  were  against  it. 

Poor  Lees  followed  in  a  broken  way,  indicating 
sundry  books,  a  guitar,  two  pairs  of  old  boots,  and  a 
canary  bird,  as  the  relics  of  his  fortune.  These,  Andy 
Plade,  who  possessed  nothing,  but  thought  he  might 
borrow  a  trifle,  volunteered  to  dispose  of,  and  Freckle, 
a  Missourian,  who  was  tolerated  in  the  colony  only 
because  he  could  be  plucked,  asserted  enthusiastically, 


1 8  THE  AT. BEL   COLO-NY  IN  PARIS. 


and  amid  great  sensation,  that  he  yet  had  three  hun 
dred  francs  at  the  banker's,  his  entire  capital,  all  of 
which  he  meant  to  devote  to  the  most  reliable  project 
in  the  world.  ; 

At  this  episode,  Pisgah,  whose  misfortunes  had  quite 
shattered  his  nerves,  proposed  to  drink  at  Freckle's 
expense  to  the  success  of  the  system,  and  Kugenot  was 
prevailed  upon  to  advance  twenty-one  sous,  while  Simp 
took  the  order  to  the  adiacent  marchand  du  vin. 

When  they  had  all  filled,  Hugenot,  looking  upon 
himself  in  the  light  of  a  benefactor,  considered  it  neces 
sary  to  do  something. 

"  Boys,"  he  said,  wiping  his  eyes  with  the  lining  of 
a  kid  glove,  "  will  yoii  esteem  it  unnatural,  that  a  Suth 
Kurlinian,  who  sat — at  an  early  age,  it  is  true — at  the 
feet  of  the  great  Kulhoon,  should  lift  up  his  voice  and 
weep  in  this  day  of  ou-ah  calamity  ?" 

(Sensation,  aggrieved  by  the  sobs  of  Freckle,  who, 
unused  to  spirits  and  greatly  affected — chokes.) 

"  When  I  cast  my  eye  about  this  lofty  chambah" 
(Here  Lees,  who  hasn't  been  out  of  it  for  a  year,  hides 
himself  beneath  the  bed-clothes)  -  "  when  I  see  these 
'  noble  spih-its  dwelling  obscu'  and  penniless  ;  when  I 
remembah  that  two  short  years  ago,  they  waih  of  inde 
pendent  fohtunes — one  with  his  sugah,  anotha  with  his 
cotton,  a  third  with  his  tobacco,  in  short,  all  the  bless 
ings  of  heaven  bestowed  upon  a  free  people — niggars, 
plantations,  pleasures  ! — I  can  but  lay  my  pooah  hand 
upon  the  manes  of  my  ancestry,  and  ask  in  the  name 
of  ou-ah  cause,  is  there  justice  above  or  retribution 
upon  the  earth  I" 

A   profound    silence   ensued,   broken    only   by   Mr. 


THE  REBEL  COLONY  IN  PARIS.  ^9 

Plade,  who  called  Hugenot  a  man  of  sentiment,  and 
slapped  his  back  ;  while  Freckle  fell  upon  Pisgah's 
bosom,  and  wished  that  his  stomach  was  as  full  as  his 
heart. 

Mr.  Sirup,  who  had  been  endeavoring  to  recollect 
some  passages  of  his  address,  in  the  case  of  the  Jeems- 
es,  for  that  address  had  an  universal  application,  and 
might  mean  as  much  now  as  on  the  original  occasion, 
brought  down  one  of  those  decayed  boots  which  the 
marchaud  des  habits  had  thrice  refused  to  buy,  and 
said,  stoutly  : 

"'By  Gad  !  think  of  it,  hyuh  am  I,  a  beggah,  by 
Gad,  without  shoes  to  my  feet,  suh  \  The  wuth  of  one 
nigga  would  keep  rne  now  for  a  yeah.  At  home,  by 
Gad,  I  could  afford  to  spend  the  wuth  of  a  staving 
field  hand  every  twenty-fouah  houahs.  I'll  svveah  !" 
cried  Simp  in  conclusion,  "  I  call  this  hard." 

"  I  suppose  the  Yankees  have  confiscated  my  stocks 
in  the  Havre  steamers,"  muttered  Andy  Plade.  "  I 
consider  they  have  done  me  out  of  twenty  thousand 
dollars." 

"  Brotha  writes  to  me,  last  lettah, "  continued 
Freckle,  who  had  recovered,  "every  tree  cut  off  the 
plantation — every  nigga  run  off,  down  to  old  Sim,  a 
hundred  years  old — every  panel  of  fence  toted  away — 
no  bacon  in  smoke-house — not  an  old  rip  in  stable — no 
corn,  coon,  possum,  rabbit,  fox,  dog  or  hog  within  ten 
miles  of  the  place — house  stands  in  a  mire — rnire  stands 
in  desert — Yankee  general  going  to  conscrip  brotha. 
I  save  myself,  sp'ose,  for  stahvation." 

"  Wait  till  you  come  down  to  my  condition,"  fal 
tered  the  proprietor,  making  emphasis  with  his  meagre 


20  THE  REBEL    COLO XV  IX  PARIS. 


finger — "  I  have  been  my  own  enemy  ;  the  Yankees 
will  but  finish  what  is  almost  consummated  now.  I  tell 
you,  boys,  I  expect  to  die  in  this  room  ;  I  shall  never 
quit  this  bed.  I  am  offensive,  wasted,  withered,  and 
would  look  gladly  upon  Pere  la  Chaise,*  if  with  my 
bodily  maladies  my  mind  was  not  also  diseased.  I  have 
no  fortitude  ;  I  am  afraid  of  death  !" 

The  room  seemed  to  grow  suddenly  cold,  and  the 
faces  of  all  the  inmates  became  pale  ;  they  looked 
more  squalid  than  ever — the  threadbare  curtains,  the 
rheumatic  chairs,  the  soiled  floor,  sashes  and  wall 
paper. 

Mr.  Hugenot  fumbled  his  shirt-bosom  nervously, 
and  his  diamond  pin,  glaring  like  a  lamp  upon  the 
worn  garbs  and  faces  of  his  compatriots,  showed  them 
still  wanner  and  meaner  by  contrast. 

"  Put  the  blues  under  your  feet  !"  cried  Auburn 
Risque,  in  his  hard,  practical  way  ;  "  my  system  will 
resurrect  the  dead.  You  shall  have  clothes  upon  your 
backs,  shoes  upon  your  feet,  specie  in  your  pockets, 
blood  in  your  veins.  Let  us  sell,  borrow  and  pawn  ; 
we  can  raise  a  thousand  francs  together.  I  will  return 
in  a  fortnight  with  fifty  thousand  !" 

II. 

RAISING    THE    AVIXD. 

THE  million  five  hundred  thousand  folks  in  Paris, 
who  went  about  their  pleasures  that  October  night, 
knew  little  of  the  sorrows  of  the  Southern  Colony. 

Pisgah  dropped  in  at  the  Chateau  des  Fleurs  to  beg 
*  The  great  Cemetery  of  Paris. 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 


a  paltry  loan  from  some  ancient  favorite.  The  time 
had  been,  when,  after  a  nightly  debauch,  he  had  placed 
two  hundred  francs  in  her  morning's  coffee-cup.  It 
was  mournful  now  to  mark  his  premature  gray  hairs, 
as,  resting  his  soiled,  faded  coat-sleeve  upon  her  man- 
teau  de  vdour,  he  saw  the  scorn  of  his  poverty  in  the 
bright  eyes  which  had  smiled  upon  him,  and  made  his 
request  so  humbly  and  so  feverishly. 

"  Give  me  back,  Feefine,"  he  faltered,  "  only  that 
fifty  francs  I  once  tied  in  a  gold  band  about  your 
spaniel's  neck.  I  am  poor,  my  dear — that  will  not 
move  you,  I  know,  but  I  am  going  to  Germany  to  play 
at  the  banks  ;  if  I  win,  I  swear  to  pay  you  back  ten 
francs  for  one  !" 

There  was  never  a  lorette  who  did  not  love  to  gamble. 
She  stopped  a  passing  gentleman  and  borrowed  the 
money  ;  the  other  saw  it  transferred  to  Pisgah,  with 
an  expression  of  contempt,  and,  turning  to  a  friend, 
called  him  aloud  a  withering  name. 

Poor  Pisgah  !  he  would  have  drawn  his  bowie-knife 
once,  and  defied  even  the  emperor  to  stand  between 
the  man  and  himself  after  such  en  appellation.  He 
would  have  esteemed  it  a  favor  now  to  be  what  he  was 
named,  and  only  lifted  his  creased  beaver  gratefully, 
and  hobbled  nervously  away,  and  stopping  near  by  at  a 
cafe  drank  a  great  glass  of  absinthe,  with  almost  a  piay- 
erful  heart. 

At  Mr.  Simp's  hotel  in  the  Rue  Monsieur  Le  Prince 
much  business  was  transacted  after  dark.  Monsieurs 
Freckle  and  Plade  were  engaged  in  smuggling  away 
certain  relics  of  furniture  and  wearing  apparel. 

Mr.  Simp  already  owed  his  landlord  fifteen  months' 


22  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

rent,  for  which  the  only  security  was  his  diminishing 
effects. 

If  the  mole-eyed  concierge  should  suspect  foul  play 
with  these,  Simp  would  be  turned  out  of  doors  imme 
diately  and  the  property  confiscated. 

Singly  and  in  packages  the  collateral  made  its  exit. 
A  half-dozen  regal  chemises  made  to  order  at  fifty 
francs  apiece  ;  a  musical  clock  picked  up  at  Genoa  for 
twelve  louis  ;  a  patent  boot-jack  and  an  ebony  billiard 
cue  ;  a  Paduan  violin  ;  two  statuettes  of  more  fidelity 
than  modesty,  to  be  sold  pound  for  pound  at  the  cur 
rent  value  of  bronze  ;  divers  pipes — articles  of  which 
Mr.  Simp  had  earned  the  title  of  connoisseur,  by  in 
vesting  several  hundred  dollars  annually — a  gutta- 
percha  self-adjusting  dog-muzzle,  the  dog  attached  to 
which  had  been  seized  by  H.  M.  Napoleon  III.  in  lieu 
of  taxes,  etc.,  etc. 

Everything  passed  out  successfully  except  one  pair 
of  pantaloons  which  protruded  from  Freckle's  vest,  and 
that  unfortunate  person  at  once  fell  under  suspicion  of 
theft.  All  went  in  the  manner  stated  to  Mr.  Lees' 
chamber,  he  being  the  only  colonist  who  did  not  hazard 
the  loss  of  his  room,  chiefly  because  nobody  else  would 
rent  it,  and  in  part  because  his  landlady,  having 
swindled  him  for  six  or  eight  years,  had  compunctions 
as  to  ejecting  him. 

Thence  in  the  morning,  true  to  his  aristocratic  in 
stincts,  Mr.  Simp  departed  in  a  roitnre  for  the  central 
bureau  of  the  Mont  de  Piete,*  in  the  Rue  Blanc 
Manteau.  His  face  had  become  familiar  there  of  late. 
He  carried  his  articles  up  from  the  curb,  while  the 
*  The  government  pawnbroking  shop. 


THE   REBEL    COLOXY  IX  PARIS.  23 


cocker  grinned  and  winked  behind,  and  taking  his  turn 
in  the  throng  of  widows,  orphans,  ouvriers,  and  profii- 
gites  and  unfortunates  of  all  loose  conditions,  Simp 
was  a  subject  of  much  unenviable  remark.  He  came 
away  with  quite  an  armful  of  large  yellow  certificates, 
and  the  articles  were  registered  to  Monsieur  Simp,  a 
French  subject  ;  for  with  such  passports  went  all  his 
compatriots. 

Andy  Plade  spent  twenty-four  hours,  meanwhile,  at 
the  Grand  Hotel,  enacting  the  time-honored  part  of  all 
things  to  all  men. 

He  differed  from  the  other  colonists,  in  that  they 
were  weak — he  was  bad.  He  spoke  several  languages 
intelligibly,  and  knew  much  of  many  things — art,  finan 
ces,  geography — just  those  matters  on  which  newly 
arrived  Americans  desire  information.  His  address 
was  even  fascinating.  One  suspected  him  to  be  a 
leech,  but  pardoned  the  motive  for  the  manner.  He 
called  himself  a  broken  man.  The  war  had  blighted 
his  fair  fortunes.  For  a  time  he  had  held  on  hopefully, 
but  now  meant  to  breast  the  current  no  longer.  His 
time  was  at  the  service  of  anybody.  Would  monsieur 
like  to  see  the  city  ?  He  knew  its  every  cleft  and  den. 
So  he  had  lived  in  Paris  five  years — in  the  same  man 
ner,  elsewhere,  all  his  life. 

A  few  men  heard  his  story  and  helped  him — one 
Northern  man  had  given  him  employment  ;  his  grati 
tude  was  defalcation. 

To  day  he  has  sounded  Hugenot  ;  but  that  man  of 
sentiment  alluded  to  the  business  habits  of  his  ancestry, 
and  intimated  that  he  did  not  lend. 

"  Ou-ah  cause,  Andy,"  he  says,  with  a  flourish,  "  is 


24  THE   REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

now  negotiating  a  loan.  When  ou-ah  beloved  country 
is  reduced  to  such  straits,  that  she  must  borow  from 
strangers,  I  cannot  think  of  relieving  private  indi-* 
gence. " 

Later  in  the  day,  however,  Mr.  Plade  made  the 
acquaintance  of  an  ingenuous  youth  from  Pennsylvania, 
and  obtaining  a  hundred  francs,  for  one  day  only,  sent 
it  straightway  to  Mr.  Auburn  Risque. 

A  second  meeting  was  held  at  Lees'  the  third  day 
noon,  when  the  originator  of  the  "  system"  sat  icily 
grim  behind  a  table  whereon  eleven  hundred  francs  re 
posed  ;  and  the  whole  colony,  crowding  breathlessly 
around,  was  amazed  to  note  how  little  the  space  taken 
up  by  so  great  a  sum. 

They  opened  a  crevice  that  Lees  might  be  gladdened 
with  the  sight  of  the  gold  ;  for  to-day  that  invalid  was 
unusually  dispirited,  and  could  not  quit  his  bed. 

"We  are  down  very  low,  old  Simp,"  said  Pisgah, 
smilingly,  "  \vhzn  either  the  possession  or  the  loss  of 
that  amount  can  be  an  event  in  our  lives." 

"  You  will  laugh  that  it  was  so,  a  week  hence,"  an 
swered  Auburn  Risque — "  when  you  lunch  at  Peters' 
while  awaiting  my  third  check  for  a  thousand  dollars 
apiece." 

"I  don't  believe  in  the  system,"  growled  Lees, 
opening  a  cold  draft  from  his  melancholy  eyes  :  "  1 
don't  feel  that  I  shall  ever  spend  a  sou  of  the  winnings. 
No  more  will  any  of  you.  There  will  be  no  winnings 
to  spend.  Auburn  Risque  will  lose.  He  always 
does." 

"  If  you  were  standing  by  at  the  play  I  should," 
cried  Risque,  while  the  pock-marks  in  his  face  were 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  25 


like  the  thavvings  of  ice.      "  You  would  croak  like  an 
old  raven,  and  I  should  forget  my  reckoning." 

"Come  now,  Lees,"  cried  all  the  others;  "you 
must  not  see  bad  omen  for  the  Colony  ;"  and  they 
said,  in  undertone,  that  Lees  had  come  to  be  quite  a 
bore. 

They  were  all  doubtful,  nevertheless.  Their  crisis 
could  not  be  exaggerated.  Their  interest  was  almost 
devout.  Three  thousand  miles  from  relief  ;  two  seas 
between,  one  of  water  and  one  of  fire  ;  at  home,  con 
scription,  captivity,  death  :  the  calamity  of  Southerners 
abroad  would  merit  all  sympathy,  if  it  had  not  been 
induced  by  waste,  and  unredeemed  by  either  fortitude 
or  regret. 

The  unhappy  Freckle,  whose  luckless  admiration  of 
the  rest  had  been  his  ruin,  felt  that  a  sonorous  prayer, 
such  as  his  old  father  used  to  make  in  the  Methodist 
meeting-house,  would  be  a  good  thing  wherewith  to 
freight  Auburn  Risque  for  his  voyage.  When  men 
stake  everything  on  a  chance,  it  is  natural  to  look  up 
to  somebody  who  governs  chances  ;  but  Andy  Plade, 
in  his  loud,  bad  way,  proposed  a  huge  toast,  which 
they  took  with  a  cheer,  and  quite  confused  Hugenot, 
who  had  a  sentiment  apropos. 

Then  they  escorted  Auburn  Risque  to  the  Chemin 
de  fer  du  Nord,*  and  packed  him  away  in  a  third-class 
carriage,  wringing  his  hand  as  if  he  were  their  only 
hope  and  friend  in  the  world. 

*  Northern  Railway  Station. 


26  THE   REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 


III. 

DEATH    IN    EXPATRIATION. 

IT  was  a  weary  day  for  the  Southern  Colony.  They 
strolled  about  town — to  the  Masque,  the  Jardin  des 
Plantes,  the  Champ  des  Mars,  the  Marche  aux  Chev- 
aux,  and  finally  to  Freckle's  place,  and  essayed  a  lugu 
brious  hour  at  whist. 

"It  is  poor  fun,  Pisgah,"  said  Mr.  Simp,  at  last, 
"  if  we  remember  that  afternoon  at  poker  when  you 
won  eight  thousand  francs  and  I  lost  six  thousand." 

The  conversation  forever  returned  to  Spa  and  Baden- 
Baden,  and  many  wagers  were  made  upon  the  amount 
of  money  which  Risque  would  gain — first  day — second 
day — first  week,  and  so  forth. 

At  last  they  resolved  to  send  to  Lees'  chamber  for 
the  roulette-board,  and  pass  the  evening  in  experiment. 
They  drew  Jacks  for  the  party  who  should  fetch  it,  and 
Freckle,  always  unfortunate,  was  pronounced  the  man. 
He  went  cheerfully,  thinking  it  quite  an  honor  to  serve 
the  Colony  in  any  capacity- — for  Freckle,  representing 
a  disaffected  State,  had  fallen  under  suspicion  of  luke 
warm  loyalty,  and  was  most  anxious  to  clear  up  any 
such  imputation. 

His  head  was  full  of  odd  remembrances  as  he  crossed 
the  Place  St.  Sulpice  :  his  plain  old  father  at  the  old 
border  home,  close  and  hard-handed,  who  went  afield 
with  his  own  negroes,  and  made  his  sons  take  the 
plough-handles,  and  marched  them  all  before  him  every 
Sunday  to  the  plank  church,  and  led  the  sirging  him- 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IX  PARIS.  27 


self  with  an  ancient  tuning-fork,  and  took  up  the  col 
lection  in  a  black  velvet  bag  fastened  to  a  pole. 

He  had  foreseen  the  war,  and  sent  his  son  abroad  to 
avoid  it.  He  had  given  Freckle  sufficient  money  to 
travel  for  five  years,  and  told  him  in  the  same  sentence 
to  guard  his  farthings  and  say  his  prayers.  Freckle 
could  see  the  old  man  now,  with  a  tear  poised  on  his 
tangled  eyelashes,  asking  a  farewell  benediction  from 
the  front  portico,  upon  himself  departing,  while  every 
woolly-head  was  uncovered,  and  the  whole  assembled 
"  property"  had  groaned  "  Amen"  together. 

That  was  patriarchal  life  ;  what  was  this  ?  Freckle 
thought  this  much  finer  and  higher.  He  had  not 
asked  himself  if  it  was  better.  He  was  rather  ashamed 
of  his  father  now,  and  anxious  to  be  a  dashing  gentle 
man,  like  Plade  or  Pisgah. 

Why  did  he  play  whist  so  badly  ?  How  chanced  it 
that,  having  dwelt  eighteen  months  in  Paris,  he  could 
speak  no  French  ?  His  only  grisette  had  both  robbed 
him  and  been  false  to  him.  He  knew  that  the  Colony 
tolerated  him,  merely.  Was  he  indeed  verdant,  as 
they  had  said — obtuse,  stupid,  lacking  wit  ? 

After  all,  he  repeated  to  himself,  what  had  the 
Colony  done  for  him  ?  He  had  not  now  twenty  francs 
to  his  name,  and  was  a  thousand  francs  in  debt  ;  he 
had  essayed  to  study  medicine,  but  balked  at  the  first 
esson.  Yet,  though  these  suggestions,  rather  than 
convictions,  occurred  to  him,  they  stirred  no  latent 
ambition.  If  he  had  ever  known  one  high  resolution, 
the  Southern  Colony  had  pulled  it  up,  and  sown  the 
place  with  salt. 

So  he  reached  Master  Lees'  tenement  ;  it  was  a  long 


28  TffE   REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 


ascent,  and  toward  the  last  stages  perilous  ;  the  stairs 
had  a  fashion  of  curving  round  unexpectedly  and  bend 
ing  against  jambs  and  blank  walls.  He  was  quite  out 
of  breath  when  he  staggered  against  Lees'  door  and 
burst  it  open. 

The  light  fell  almost  glaringly  upon  the  bare,  con 
tracted  chamber  ;  for  this  was  next  to  the  sky  and 
close  up  to  the  clouds,  and  the  window  looked  toward 
the  west,  where  the  sun,  sinking  majestically,  was  throw 
ing  its  brightest  smiles  upon  Paris,  as  it  bade  adieu. 

And  there,  upon  his  tossed,  neglected  bed,  in  the 
full  blaze  of  the  sunset,  his  sharp,  sallow  jaws  dropped 
upon  his  neck,  his  cheeks  colorless  and  concave,  his 
great  eyes  open  wide  and  his  hair  unsmoothed,  Master 
Lees  lay  dead,  with  the  roulette  table  upon  his 
breast  ! 

When  Freckle  had  raised  himself  from  the  platform 
at  the  base  of  the  first  flight  of  stairs,  down  which  he 
had  fallen  in  his  fright,  he  hastened  to  his  own  cham 
ber  and  gave  the  Colony  notice  of  the  depletion  of  its 
number. 

A  deep  gloom,  as  may  be  surmised,  fell  upon  all. 
Lees  had  been  no  great  favorite  of  late,  and  it  had 
been  the  trite  remark  for  a  year  that  he  was  looking 
like  death  ;  but  at  this  juncture  the  tidings  came 
ominously  enough.  One  member,  at  least,  of  the 
Southern  Colony  would  never  share  the  winnings  of 
Auburn  Risque,  and  now  that  they  referred  to  his  fore 
bodings  of  the  morning,  it  was  recalled  that  with  his 
own  demise,  he  had  prophesied  the  failure  of  "  the 
system." 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  29 


His  end  seemed  to  each  young  exile  a  personal  ad 
monition  ;  they  had  known  him  strong  and  spirited, 
and  with  them  he  had  grown  poor  and  unhappy.  Pov 
erty  is  a  warning  that  talks  like  the  wind,  and  we  do 
not  heed  it  ;  but  death  raps  at  our  door  with  bony 
knuckles,  so  that  we  grow  pale  and  think. 

They  shuddered,  though  they  were  hardened  young 
men,  so  unfeeling,  even  after  this  reprimand,  that  they 
would  have  left  the  corpse  of  their  companion  to  go  un- 
honored  to  its  grave  ;  separately  they  wished  to  do  so 
— in  community  they  were  ashamed  ;  and  Pisgah  had 
half  a  hope  that  somebody  would  demur  when  he  said, 
awkwardly  : 

"  The  Colony  must  attend  the  funeral,  I  suppose. 
God  knows  which  of  us  will  take  the  next  turn." 

Freckle  cried  out,  however,  that  he  should  go,  if  he 
were  to  be  buried  alive  in  the  same  tomb,  and  on  this 
occasion  only  he  appeared  in  the  light  of  an  influential 
spirit. 

IV. 

THE    DESPERATE    CHANCE. 

DURTNC  all  this  time  Mr.  Auburn  Risque,  packed 
away  in  the  omnibus  train,  with  a  cheap  cigar  between 
his  lips,  and  a  face  like  a  refrigerator,  was  scudding 
over  the  rolling  provinces  of  France,  thinking  as  little 
of  the  sunshine,  and  the  harvesters  of  flax,  and  the 
turning  leaves  of  the  woods,  and  the  chateaux  overaw 
ing  the  thatched  little  villages,  as  if  the  train  were  his 
mail-coach,  and  France  were  Arkansas,  and  he  were 
lashing  the  rump  of  the  "  off"  horse,  as  he  had  done 
for  the  better  part  of  his  life. 


30  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 


Risque's  uncle  had  been  a  great  Mississippi  jobber  ; 
he  took  U.  S.  postal  contracts  for  all  the  unknown 
world  ;  route  of  the  first  class,  six  horses  and  daily  ; 
route  of  the  second  class,  semi-weekly  and  four  horses  ; 
third  class,  two  horses  and  weekly  ;  fourth  class,  one 
horse,  one  saddle,  and  one  small  boy. 

The  young  Auburn  had  been  born  in  the  stable,  and 
had  taken  at  once  to  the  road.  His  uncle  found  it 
convenient  to  put  him  to  work.  He  can  never  be 
faithfully  said  to  have  learned  to  walk  j  and  recalls,  as 
the  first  incident  of  his  life,  a  man  who  carried  a  baby 
and  two  bcwie  knives,  teaching  him  to  play  old 
sledge  on  the  cushions  of  a  Washita  stage. 

Thenceforward  he  was  a  man  of  one  idea.  He  held 
it  to  be  one  of  the  decrees,  that  he  was  to  grow  rich  by 
gaming.  As  he  went,  by  day  or  night,  in  rain  or  fog 
or  burning  sun,  by  the  margins  of  turgid  south-western 
rivers,  where  his  "  leaders"  shied  at  the  alligators 
asleep  in  the  stage-road  ;  through  dreary  pine  woods, 
where  the  owls  hooted  at  silence  ;  over  red,  reedy, 
slimy  causeways  ;  in  cane-breaks  and  bayous  ;  past 
villages  where  civilization  looked  westward  with  a  dirk 
between  its  teeth,  and  cracked  its  horsewhip  ;  past  rich 
plantations  where  the  negroes  sang  afield,  and  the 
planter  in  the  house-porch  took  off  his  hat  to  bow — 
here,  there,  always,  everywhere,  with  his  cold,  hard, 
pock-marked  face,  thin  lips  and  spotted  eye,  Auburn 
Risque  sat  brooding  behind  the  reins,  computing,  cal 
culating,  overreaching,  waiting  for  his  destiny  to 
wrestle  with  Chance  and  bind  it  down  while  its  pockets 
were  picked. 

His  whole  life  might  have  been  called  a  game  of 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  31 

cards.      He    carried   a   deck   forever   next   his   heart. 

Sometimes    he  gambled   with   other    vehicles — stocks, 

shares,  currency — but  the  cards  were  still  his  mainstay, 

nd  he  was  well  acquainted  with  every  known  or  obso- 

ete  game.     There  was  no  trick,  nor  fraud,  nor  waggery 

which  he  had  not  at  his  fingers-ends. 

It  was  his  favorite  theory  that  there  was  method  in 
what  seemed  chance  ;  principles  underlying  luck  ; 
measures  for  infinity  ;  clues  to  all  combinations. 

Given  one  pack  of  cards,  one  man  to  shuffle,  one  to 
cut,  one  to  deal,  and  fair  play,  and  it  was  yet  possible 
to  know  just  how  many  times  in  a  given  number  of 
games  each  card  would  fall  to  each  man. 

Given  a  roulette  circle  of  one  hundred  numbered 
spaces  and  a  blindfolded  man  to  spin  the  ball  ;  it  could 
be  counted  just  how  many  times  in  one  thousand  said 
ball  would  come  to  rest  upon  any  one  number. 

No  searcher  for  perpetual  motion,  no  blind  believer 
in  alchemy,  clung  to  his  one  idea  closer  than  Auburn 
Risque.  He  had  shut  all  themes,  affections,  interests, 
from  his  mind.  He  neither  loved  nor  hated  any  living 
being.  He  was  penurious  in  his  expenditures — never 
in  his  wagers.  He  would  stake  upon  anything  in 
nature — a  trot,  an  election,  a  battle,  a  murder. 

"  Will  you  play  picquet  for  one  sou  the  game,  one 
hundred  and  fifty  points  ?"  says  a  soldier  near  by. 

He  accepts  at  once  ;  the  afternoon  passes  to  night, 
and  the  lamps  in  the  roof  are  lighted.  The  cards 
flicker  upon  the  seat  ;  the  boors  gather  round  to  watch  ; 
they  pass  the  French  frontier,  and  see  from  their  win 
dows  the  forges  of  Belgium,  throwing  fire  upon  the 
river  Meuse.  Still,  hour  after  hour,  though  their  eyes 


32  THE   REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARTS. 

are  weary,  and  all  the  folks  are  gone  or  sleeping,  the 
cards  fall,  fall,  fall,  till  there  comes  a  jar  and  a  stop, 
and  the  guard  cries,  "  Cologne  !" 

"  You  have  won,"  says  the  soldier,  laying  down  his 
money.  "Good-night." 

The  Rhine  is  a  fine  stream,  though  our  German 
friends  will  build  mock-castles  upon  it,  and  insist  that 
it  is  the  only  real  river  in  the  world. 

Auburn  Risque  pays  no  more  regard  to  it  than 
though  he  were  treading  the  cedars  and  sands  of  New 
Jersey  or  North  Carolina.  He  speaks  with  a  Franco- 
Russian,  who  has  lost  in  play  ten  thousand  francs  a 
month  for  three  successive  years,  and  while  they  dis 
cuss  chances,  expedients  and  experiences,  the  Siebern- 
gebierge  drifts  by,  they  pass  St.  Goar  and  Bingen,  and 
the  wonderful  Rhine  has  been  only  a  time,  nothing  of 
a  scene,  as  they  stop  abreast  Biberich,  and,  rowed 
ashore  in  a  flagboat,  make  at  once  for  the  railway. 

At  noon,  on  the  third  day,  Mr.  Risque  having  en 
gaged  a  frugal  bed  at  a  little  distance  from  Wisbaden, 
enters  the  grand  saloon  of  the  Kursaal,  and  turning  to 
the  right,  sees  before  him  a  perspective,  to  which  not 
all  the  marvels  of  art  or  nature  afford  comparison  :  a 
snug  little  room,  with  a  table  of  green  baize  in  the 
centre  of  the  floor,  and  about  the  table  sundry  folks 
of  various  ages  and  degrees,  before  each  a  heap  of 
glittering  coins,  and  in  the  midst  of  all  a  something 
which  moves  forever,  with  a  hurtle  and  a  hum — the 
roulette. 

Mark  them  !  the  weak,  the  profligate,  the  daring. 
There  is  old  age,  watching  the  play,  with  its  voice 
like  a  baby's  cry  ;  and  the  paper  whereon  it  keeps 


THE   REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  33 

tremulous  tally  swimming  upon  eyes  cf  perpetual  twi 
light. 

The  boy  ventures  his  first  gold  piece  with  the  resolve 
that,  win  or  lose,  he  will  stake  no  more.  He  wins, 
and  lies.  At  his  side  stands  beautiful  Sin,  forgetting 
its  guilt  and  coquetry  for  its  avarice.  The  pale  de 
faulter  from  over  the  sea  hazards  like  one  whose  treas 
ure  is  a  burden  upon  his  neck,  and  the  roue — blank, 
emotionless,  remorseless — doubling  at  every  loss,  walks 
penniless  away  to  dinner  with  a  better  appetite  than  he 
who  saves  a  nation  or  dies  for  a  truth. 

The  daintily  dressed  coitpcurs  are  in  their  chairs, 
eyeless,  but  omniscient  ;  the  ball  goes  heedlessly, 
slaying  or  anointing  where  it  stays,  and  the  gold  as  it 
is  raked  up  clinks  and  glistens,  as  if  it  struck  men's 
hearts  and  found  them  as  hard  and  sounding. 

Mr.  Risque  advanced  to  the  end  of  the  table,  and 
stood  motionless  a  little  while,  drinking  it  all  into  his 
passionless  eyes,  which,  like  sponges,  absorbed  what 
ever  they  saw,  but  nothing  revealed.  At  last  his  right 
hand  dropped  softly  to  his  vest  pocket,  as  though  it 
had  some  interest  in  deceiving  his  left  hand. 

Apparently  unconscious  of  the  act,  the  right  hand 
next  slid  over  the  table  edge,  and  silently  deposited  a 
five-franc  piece  upon  the  black  compartment. 

"  Whiz-z-z-z"  started  the  ball  from  the  fingers  of  the 
coupeurs — "  click"  dro'pped  the  ball  into  a  black  de 
partment  of  the  board;  "clink!  tingle!"  cried  the 
money,  changing  hands  ;  but  not  a  word  said  Auburn 
Risque,  standing  like  a  stalagmite  with  his  eyes  upon 
ten  francs. 

"  Whiz-z-z  !" — "  click  !"  "  click  !"  "  tingle  !" 


34  7 HE   REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

Did  he  see  the  fifteen  francs  at  all,  half  trance- 
like,  half  ccrpse-like,  as  he  stood,  waiting  for  the 
third  revolution,  and  waiting  again,  and  again,  and 
again  ? 

His  five  francs  have  grown  to  be  a  hundred  ;  his 
cold  hand  falls  freezingly  upon  them  ;  five  francs  re 
place  the  hundred  he  took  away — "  Whizz  !"  goes  the 
ball  ;  "  click  !"  stops  the  ball  ;  the  coupeur  seizes  Mr. 
Risque's  five  francs,  and  Mr,  Risque  walks  away  like 
a  somnambulist. 

V. 

BURIED    IN    THE    COMMON'    DITCH. 

IT  would  have  been  a  strange  scene  for  an  Ameri 
can  public,  the  street  corridor  of  the  lofty  house  near 
the  church  of  Saint  Sulpice,  on  the  funeral  after 
noon. 

The  coffin  lay  upon  a  draped  table,  and  festoons  of 
crape  threw  phantom  shadows  upon  the  soiled  velvet 
covering.  Each  passing  pedestrian  and  cabman  took 
off  his  hat  a  moment.  The  Southern  Colony  were  in 
the  landlady's  bureau  enjoying  a  lunch  and  liquor,  and 
precisely  at  three  o'clock  they  came  down  stairs,  not 
more  dilapidated  than  usual,  while  at  the  same  moment 
the  municipal  hearse  drove  up,  attended  by  one  cocker 
and  two  croquemorts* 

The  hearse  was  a  cheap  charity  affair,  furnished  by 

the  Maire  of  the  arrondissement,  though  it  was  sprucely 

painted   and   decked  with   funeral    cloth.     The  driver 

wore  a   huge   black  chapeau,  a  white    cotton    cravat, 

*  Literally,  "parasites  of  death." 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  35 

and  thigh-boots,  which,  standing  up  stiffly  as  he  sat, 
seemed  to  engulf  him  to  the  ears. 

When  the  croquemorts,  in  a  business  way,  lifted  the 
velvet  from  the  coffin,  it  was  seen  to  be  constructed  of 
strips  of  deal  merely,  unpainted,  and  not  thicker  than 
a  Malaga  raisin  box. 

There  was  some  fear  that  it  would  fall  apart  of  its 
own  fragility,  but  the  chief  croquemort  explained  polite 
ly  that  such  accidents  never  happened. 

"  We  have  entombed  four  of  them  to-day,"  he  said  ; 
"  see  how  nicely  we  shall  lift  the  fifth  one." 

There  was,  indeed,  a  certain  sleight  whereby  he 
slung  it  across  his  shoulder,  but  no  reason  in  the  world 
for  tossing  it  upon  the  hearse  with  a  slam.  They  cov 
ered  its  nakedness  with  velvet,  and  the  cocker^  having 
taken  a  cigar  from  his  pocket,  and  looking  much  as  if 
he  would  like  to  smoke,  put  it  back  again  sadly, 
cracked  his  whip,  and  the  cortege  went  on.  The 
croquemorts  kept  a  little  way  ahead,  sauntering  upon 
the  sidewalk,  and  their  cloaks  and  oil-cloth  hats  pro 
tected  them  from  a  drizzling  rain,  which  now  came 
down,  to  the  grief  of  the  mourners,  walking  in  the 
middle  of  the  street  behind  the  body.  They  were  seven 
in  number,  Messrs.  Plade,  Pisgah  and  Simp,  going  to 
gether,  and  apparently  a  trifle  the  worse  for  the  lunch  ; 
Freckle  followed  singly,  having  been  told  to  keep  at  a 
distance  to  render  the  display  more  imposing  ;  the 
landlady  and  her  niece  went  arm  in  arm  after,  and  be 
hind  them  trode  a  little  old  hunchback  gentleman,  neatly 
clothed,  and  bearing  in  his  hand  a  black,  wooden  cross, 
considerably  higher  than  himself,  on  which  was  paint 
ed,  in  white  letters,  this  inscription  : 


36  7772"  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

CHRISTOPHER    LEES, 

CAROLINA    DU    NORD, 
ETATS    CONFEDERE 

AMERIQUE. 
AGE    VINGT-QUATRE. 

A  wreath  of  yellow  immortelles,  tied  to  the  cross- 
piece,  was  interwoven  with  these  spangled  letters  : 

"  R-E-G-R-E-T-S  ;" 

and  the  solemn  air  of  the  old  man  seemed  to  evidence 
that  they  were  not  meaningless. 

The  hunchback  was  Lees'  principal  creditor.  He 
kept  a  small  restaurant,  where  the  deceased  had  been 
supplied  for  two  years,  and  his  books  showed  indebted 
ness  of  twenty-eight  hundred  francs,  not  a  sou  of  which 
he  should  ever  receive.  He  could  ill  afford  to  lose 
the  money,  and  had  known,  indeed,  that  he  should 
never  be  paid,  a  year  previous  to  the  demise.  But  the 
friendlessness  of  the  stranger  had  touched  his  heart- 
Twice  every  day  he  sent  up  a  basket  cf  food,  which 
was  always  relumed  empty,  and  every  Sunday  climbed 
the  long  stairway  with  a  bottle  of  the  best  wine — but 
never  once  said,  "  Pay  my  bill." 

Here  he  was  at  the  last  chapter  of  exile,  still  bearing 
his  creditor's  cross. 

"Give  the  young  man's  friends  a  lunch, "he  had 
said  to  the  landlady  :  "  I  will  make  it  right  ;" — and  in 
the  cortege  he  was  probably  the  only  honest  mourner. 

Not  we,  who  know  Frenchmen  by  caricature  merely, 
as  volatile,  fickle,  deceitful,  full  of  artirice,  should  sit 
in  judgment  upon  them.  He  has  the  least  heart  of  all 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN'  PARIS.  37 

who  thinks  that  there  is  not  some  heart  everywhere  ! 
The  charity  which  tarrieth  long  and  suffereth  much 
wrong,  has  been  that  of  the  Parisians  of  the  Latin 
Quarter,  during  the  American  war. 

Along  all  the  route  the  folks  lifted  their  hats  as  the 
hearse  passed  by,  and  so,  through  slush  and  mist  and 
rain,  the  little  company  kept  straight  toward  the  bar 
riers,  and  turned  at  last  into  the  great  gate  of  the 
cemetery  of  Mt.  Parnasse. 

They  do  not  deck  the  cities  of  the  dead  abroad  as 
our  great  sepulchres  are  adorned. 

Pere  la  Chaise  is  famed  rather  for  it 5  inmates  than 
its  tombs,  and  Mont  Parnasse  and  Monte  Martre,  the 
remaining  places  of  interment,  are  even  forbidding  to 
the  mind  and  the  eye. 

A  gate-keeper,  in  semi-military  dress,  sounded  a 
loud  bell  as  the  hearse  rolled  over  the  curb,  and  when 
they  had  taken  an  aisle  to  the  left,  with  maple  trees  on 
either  side,  and  vistas  of  mean-looking  vaults,  a  corpu 
lent  priest,  wearing  a  cape  and  a  white  apron,  and  at 
tended  by  a  civil  assistant  of  most  villainous  physiogno 
my,  met  the  cortege  and  escorted  it  to  its  destination. 

This  was  the  fesse  commune — in  plain  English,  the 
common  trench — an  open  lot  adjacent  to  the  cemetery, 
appropriated  to  bodies  interred  at  public  expense,  and 
presenting  to  the  eye  a  spectacle  which,  considered 
either  with  regard  to  its  quaintness  or  its  dreariness, 
stood  alone  and  unrivalled. 

Nearest  the  street  the  ground  had  long  been  occu 
pied,  trench  parallel  with  trench,  filled  to  the  surface 
level,  sodded  green,  and  each  grave  marked  by  a 
wooden  cross.  There  was  a  double  layer  of  bodies 


38  THE   REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

beneath,  lying  side  by  side  ;  no  margin  could  of  course 
be  given  at  the  surface  ;  the  thickly  planted  crosses, 
therefore,  looked,  at  a  little  distance,  like  a  great  waste 
of  heath  or  bramble,  broken  now  and  then  by  a  dwaif 
cedar,  and  hung  to  the  full  with  flowers  and  tokens. 
The  width  of  the  trenches  was  that  of  the  added  height 
of  two  full-grown  men,  and  the  length  a  half  mile  per 
haps  ;  a  narrow  passage-way  separated  them,  so  that, 
however  undistinguishable  they  appeared,  each  grave 
could  be  indentified  and  visited. 

Close  observation  might  have  found  much  to  cheer 
this  waste  of  flesh,  this  economy  of  space  ;  but  to  this 
little  approaching  company  the  scene  was  of  a  kind  to 
make  death  more  terrible  by  association. 

A  rough  wall  enclosed  the  flat  expanse  of  charnel, 
over  which  the  scattered  houses  of  the  barriers  looked 
widowed  through  their  mournful  windows  ;  and  now 
and  then  a  crippled  crone,  or  a  bereaved  ol(J  pauper, 
hobbled  to  the  roadway  and  shook  her  white  hairs  to 
the  rain. 

It  seemed  a  long  way  over  the  boggy  soil  to  the 
newly  opened  trench,  where  the  hearse  stopped  with  its 
wheels  half-sunken,  and  the  chief  croquenwrt,  without 
any  ado,  threw  the  coffin  over  his  shoulder  and  walked 
to  the  place  of  sepulture.  Five  fossoyeurs,  at  the  re 
mote  end  of  the  trench,  were  digging  and  covering,  as 
if  their  number  rather  than  their  work  needed  increase, 
and  a  soldier  in  blue  overcoat,  whose  hands  were  full 
of  papers,  came  up  at  a  commercial  pace,  and  cried  : 

"  Corps  trente-deux  /" 

Which  corresponded  to  the  figures  on  the  box,  and 
to  the  number  of  interments  for  the  day. 


THE   REBEL    COLONY  IJV  PARIS.  39 


The  delvers  made  no  pause  while  the  priest  read  the 
service,  and  the  clods  fell  faster  than  the  rain.  The 
box  was  nicely  mortised  against  another  previously  de 
posited,  and  as  there  remained  an  interstice  between  it 
and  that  at  its  feet,  an  infant's  coffin  made  the  space 
complete. 

The  Latin  service  was  of  all  recitations  the  most 
slovenly  and  contemptuous  ;  the  priest  might  have 
been  either  smiling  or  sleeping  ;  for  his  very  red  face 
appeared  to  have  nothing  in  common  with  his  scarcely 
moving  lips  ;  and  the  assistant  looked  straight  at  the 
trench,  half  covetously,  half  vindictively,  as  if  he  meant 
to  turn  the  body  cut  of  the  box  directly,  and  run  away 
with  the  grave-clothes.  It  took  but  two  minutes  to  run 
through  the  text  ;  the  holy  water  was  dashed  from  the 
hyssop  ;  and  the  priest,  with  a  small  shovel,  threw  a 
quantity  of  clods  after  it.  "  Requiescat  in  pace  f  he 
cried,  like  one  just  awakened,  and  now  for  the  first 
time  the  grave-diggers  ceased  ;  they  wanted  the  cus 
tomary  fee,  pour  boire. 

The  exiles  never  felt  so  destitute  before  ;  not  a  sou 
could  be  found  in  the  Colony.  But  the  little  hunch 
back  stepped  up  with  the  cross,  and  gave  it  to  the  chief 
fossoyeur,  dropping  a  franc  into  his  hand  ;  each  of  the 
women  added  some  sous,  and  the  younger  one  quietly 
tied  a  small  round  token  of  brass  to  the  wood,  which 
she  kissed  thrice  ;  it  bore  these  words  : 

' '  A  mon  ami. 

"  A  little  more  than  kin  and  less  than  kind  !"  whis 
pered  Andy  Plade,  who  knew  what  such  souvenirs 
meant,  in  Paris. 

The  Colony  went  away  disconsolate  ;  but  the  little 


4°  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

hunchback  stopped  on  the  margin,  and  looked  once 
more  into  the  pit  wheie  the  box  was  fast  disappear 
ing. 

"  Pardon  our  debts,  bon  Dieu  /"  he  said,  "  as  we 
pardon  our  debtors." 

Shall  we  who  have  followed  this  funeral  be  kind 
to  the  stranger  that  is  within  our  gates  ?  The  quiet  old 
gentleman  standing  so  gravely  over  the  fosse  commune 
might  have  attracted  more  regard  from  the  angels  than 
that  Iron  Duke  who  once  looked  down  upon  the  sar 
cophagus  of  his  enemy  in  the  Hotel  des  Invalides. 

And  so  Lees  was  at  rest — the  master's  only  son.  the 
heir  to  lands  and  houses,  and  servants,  and  hopes.  He 
had  escaped  the  bullet,  but  also  that  honor  which  a 
soldier's  death  conferred — and  thus,  abroad  and  neg 
lected,  had  existed  awhile  upon  the  charity  of 
strangers,  to  expire  of  his  own  wickedness,  and  accept, 
as  a  boon,  this  place  among  the  bones  of  the  wretched. 

How  beat  the  hearts  which  wait  for  the  strife  to  be 
done  and  for  him  to  return  !  The  field-hands  sleep 
more  honored  in  their  separate  mounds  beneath  the 
pine  trees.  The  landlady's  daughter  may  come  some 
times  to  fasten  a  flower  upon  his  cross  ;  but,  like  that 
cross,  her  sorrow  will  decay,  and  Master  Lees  will 
mingle  with  common  dust,  passing  out  of  the  memory 
of  Europe — ay  !  even  of  the  Southern  Colony. 

How  bowed  and  wounded  they  threaded  the  way 
homeward,  those  young  men,  whom  the  world,  in  its 
bated  breath,  had  called  rich  and  fortunate  !  Now 
that  they  thought  it  over,  how  absurd  had  been  this 
gambling  venture  !  They  should  lose  every  sou.  They 
had,  for  a  blind  chance,  exhausted  the  patience  of  their 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  2 W  PARIS.  41 

creditors,  and  made  away  with  their  last  collateral — 
their  last  crust,  and  bed,  and  drink. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Simp,  bitterly,  "  that  I  had  been 
born  one  of  my  mother's  niggers.  Bigad.!  a  cabin,  a 
wood  fire,  corn  meal  and  a  pound  of  pork  per  diem, 
would  keep  me  like  a  duke  next  winter." 

Here  they  stopped  at  Simp's  hotel,  and,  as  he  was 
afraid  to  enter  alone,  the  loss  of  his  baggage  being  de 
tected,  the  Colony  consented  to  ascend  to  his  chamber. 

"  Monsieur  Simp,"  said  the  fierce  concierge,  "  here 
is  a  letter,  the  last  which  I  shall  ever  receive  for  you  ! 
You  will  please  pay  my  bill  to-ni^ht,  or  I  shall  go  to 
the  office  of  the  fruff  homme  ;  you  are  of  the  canaille, 
sir  !  Where  are  your  effects  ?" 

"  Whoop  !"  yelled  Mr.  Simp,  in  the  landlady's  face. 
"  Yah-ah-ah  !  hoora  ah-ah  !  three  cheers  !  we  have 
news  of  our  venture  !  This  is  a  telegram  !" 

"  WISBADEX,  Oct.  30. 

'  The  system  wins  !  To-day  and  yesterday  I  took 
seven  thousand  one  hundred  francs.  I  have  selected 
the  4th  of  November  to  break  the  bank. 

"  AUBURN  RISQUE." 

VI. 

THE    OLD    REVELRY    REVIVED. 

THE  Colony  would  have  shouted  over  Master  Lees' 
coffin  at  the  receipt  of  such  intelligence.  They  gave  a 
genuine  American  cheer,  nine  times  repeated,  with  the 
celebrated  "  tiger"  of  the  Texan  Rangers,  as  it  had 
been  reported  to  them.  Mr.  Simp  read  the  dispatch 


42  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

to  the  concierge,  who  brightened  up,  begged  his  par 
don,  and  hoped  that  he  would  forget  words  said  in 
anger. 

"  Madam,"  said  Mr.  Simp,  with  some  dignity,  "  I 
have  suffered  and  forgotten  much  in  this  establishment  • 
we  have  an  aphorism,  relative  to  the  last  feather,  in 
the  English  tongue.  But  lend  me  one  hundred  francs 
till  my  instalment  arrives  from  Germany,  and  I  will 
forgive  even  the  present  insult." 

"  Boys  !"  cried  Andy  Plade,  "  let  us  have  a  supper  ! 
We — that  is,  you — can  take  the  telegram  to  our  several 
creditors,  and  raise  enough  upon  it  to  pass  a  regal 
night  at  the  Trots  f re  res. " 

This  proposition  was  received  with  great  favor  ;  the 
concierge  gave  Simp  a  hundred  francs  ;  he  ordered 
cigars  and  a  gallon  of  punch,  and  they  repaired  to  his 
room  to  arrange  the  details  of  the  celebration. 

Freckle  gave  great  offence  by  wishing  that  "  Poor 
Lees"  were  alive  to  enjoy  himself  ;  and  Simp  said, 
"  Bigad,  sir  !  Freckle,  living,  is  more  of  a  bore  than 
Lees,  dead." 

They  resolved  to  attend  supper  in  their  dilapidated 
clothes,  so  that  what  they  had  been  might  be  pleasant 
ly  rebuked  by  what  they  were.  "  And  but  for  this  fea 
ture,"  said  Andy  Plade,  "  it  would  have  been  well  to 
invite  Ambassador  Slidell."  But  Pisgah  and  Simp, 
who  had  applied  to  Slidell  several  times  by  letter  for 
temporary  loans,  were  averse,  just  now,  to  the  presence 
of  one  who  had  forgotten  "  the  first  requisite  of  a 
Southern  Gentleman — generosity. ' ' 

So  it  was  settled  that  only  the  Colony  and  Hugenot 
were  to  come,  each  man  to  bring  one  lady.  Simp, 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  43 


Pisgah,  and  Freckle  thought  Hugenot  a  villain.  He 
had  not  even  attended  the  obsequies  of  the  lamented 
Lees.  But  Andy  Plade  forcibly  urged  that  Hugenot 
was  a  good  speaker,  and  would  be  needed  for  a  senti 
ment. 

In  the  evening  a  lunch  was  served  by  Mr.  Simp,  of 
which  some  young  ladies  of  the  Paris  demi-monde  par 
took  ;  the  "  Bonnie  Blue  Flag"  was  sung  with  great 
spirit,  and  Freckle  became  so  intoxicated  at  two  in  the 
morning  that  one  of  the  young  ladies  was  prevailed 
upon  to  see  him  to  his  hotel. 

There  was  great  joy  in  the  Latin  Quarter  when  it 
was  known  that  the  Southern  Colony  had  won  at  Wis- 
baden,  and  meant  to  pay  its  debts.  The  tailors,  shoe 
makers,  tobacconists,  publicans,  grocers  and  hosiers 
met  in  squads  upon  corners  to  talk  it  over  ;  all  the 
gentlemen  obtained  loans,  and,  as  evidence  of  how 
liberal  they  meant  to  be,  commenced  by  giving  away 
whatever  old  effects  they  had. 

A  cabinet  or  small  saloon  of  the  most  expensive  res 
taurant  in  Paris  was  pleasantly  adorned  for  the  first 
reunion  of  the  Confederate  exiles. 

The  ancient  seven-starred  flag,  entwined  with  the 
new  battle-flag,  hung  in  festoons  at  the  head  of  the 
room,  and  directly  beneath  was  the  portrait  of  Presi 
dent  Davis.  A  crayon  drawing  of  the  C.  S.  N.  V. 
Florida,  from  the  portfolio  of  the  amateur  Mr.  Simp, 
was  arched  by  two  crossed  cutlasses,  hired  for  the  oc 
casion  ;  and  upon  an  enormous  iced  cake,  in  the  centre 
of  the  table,  stood  a  barefooted  soldier,  with  his  back 
against  a  pine  tree,  defying  both  a  Yankee  and  a  negro. 

At  eleven  o'clock  P.M.  the  scrupulously  dressed  at- 


44  THE  REBEL    COLONY  7.V  PARIS. 


tendants  heard  a  buzz  and  a  hurried  tramp  upon  the 
stairs.  They  repaired  at  once  to  their  respective 
places,  and  after  a  pause  the  Southern  Colony  and 
convoy  made  their  appearance  upon  the  threshold. 
With  the  exception  of  Pisgah  and  Hugenot,  all  were 
clothed  in  the  relics  of  their  poverty,  but  their  hairs 
were  curled,  and  they  wore  some  recovered  articles  of 
jewelry.  They  had  thus  the  guise  of  a  colony  of  bar 
bers  coming  up  from  the  gold  diggings,  full  of  nuggets 
and  old  clothes. 

By  previous  arrangement,  the  chair  was  taken  by 
Andy  Plade,  supported  by  two  young  ladies,  and,  after 
saying  a  welcome  to  the  guests  in  elegant  French,  he 
made  a  significant  gesture  to  the  chief  waiter.  The 
most  luscious  Ostend  oysters  were  at  once  introduced  ; 
they  lifted  them  with  bright  silver  fourchettes  from 
plates  of  Sevres  porcelain,  and  each  guest  touched  his 
lips  afterward  with  a  glass  of  refined  rermcuth.  Three 
descriptions  of  soup  came  successively,  an  amber 
Julien,  in  which  the  microscope  would  have  been 
baffled  to  detect  one  vegetable  fibre,  yet  it  bore  all  the 
flavors  of  the  garden  ;  a  tureen  of  po/age  a  la  Bisque, 
in  which  the  rarest  and  tiniest  shell-fish  had  dissolved 
themselves  ;  and  at  the  last  a  tortiie,  small  in  quantity, 
but  so  delicious  that  murmurs  of  "  encore"  were  made. 

Morsels  of  riande^  so  alternated  that  the  appetite  was 
prolonged — each  dish  seeming  a  better  variation  of  the 
preceding — were  helped  toward  digestion  by  the  finest 
vintages  of  Burgundy;  and  the  luscious  pates  de  foie 
gras — for  which  the  plumpest  geese  in  Bretagne  had 
been  invalids  all  their  days,  and,  if  gossip  be  true, 
submitted  in  the  end  to  a  slow  roasting  alive — intro- 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  45 

duced  the  fish,  which,  by  the  then  reformed  Parisian 
mode,  must  appear  after,  not  before,  the  entree. 

A  sole  au  inn  blanc  gave  way  to  a  regal  mackerel  au 
sauce  champignon,  and  after  this  dish  came  confections 
and  fruits  ad  libitum,  ending  with  the  removal  of  the 
cloth,  the  introduction  of  cigars,  and  a  marquise  or 
punch  of  pure  champagne. 

It  was  a  pleasant  evening  within  and  without  ;  the 
windows  were  raised,  and  they  could  see  the  people  in 
the  gardens  strolling  beneath  the  lime  trees  ;  the  star 
light  falling  on  the  plashing  fountain  and  the  gray, 
motionless  statues  ;  the  pearly  light  of  the  lines  of 
lamps,  shining  down  the  long  arcades  ;  the  glitter  of 
jewelry  and  precious  merchandise  in  the  marvellous 
boutiques ;  the  groups  which  sat  around  the  cafe  be 
neath  with  sorbets  and  glace  s,  and  sparkling  wines  ; 
the  old  women  in  Normandie  caps  and  green  aprons, 
who  flitted  here  and  there  to  take  the  hire  of  chairs, 
and  break  the  hum  of  couples,  talking  profane  and 
sacred  love  ;  around  and  above  all,  the  Cardinal's 
grand  palace  lifting  its  multitudinous  pilasters,  and 
seeming  to  prop  up  the  sky. 

It  was  Mr.  Simp  and  his  lady  who  saw  these  more 
particularly,  as  they  had  withdrawn  from  the  table,  to 
exchange  a  memory  and  a  sentiment,  and  Hugenot  had 
joined  them  with  his  most  recent  mistress  ;  for  the  lat 
ter  was  particularly  unfortunate  in  love,  being  cozened 
out  of  much  money,  and  yet  libelled  for  his  closeness. 

All  the  rest  sat  at  the  table,  talking  over  the  splen 
dor  of  the  supper,  and  proposing  to  hold  a  second  one 
at  the  famous  Philippe's,  in  the  Rue  Montorgueil. 
But  Mr.  Freckle,  being  again  emboldened  by  wine, 


46  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

and  affronted  at  the  subordinate  position  assigned  him, 
repeatedly  cried  that,  for  his  part,  he  preferred  the 
"old  Latin  Quarter,"  and  challenged  the  chairman 
to  produce  a  finer  repast  than  Magny's  in  the  Rue 
Counterscarp. 

Piseah,  newly  clothed  cap-a-pie,  was  drinking 
absinthe,  and  with  his  absent  eyes,  worn  face  and 
changing  hairs,  looked  like  the  spectre  of  his  former 
self.  Now  and  then  he  raised  his  head  to  give  uncon 
scious  assent  to  something,  but  immediately  relapsed 
to  the  worship  of  his  nepenthe  ;  and,  as  the  long  pota 
tions  sent  strong  fumes  to  his  temples,  he  chuckled 
audibly,  and  gathered  his  jaws  to  his  eyes  in  a  vacant 
grin.  The  gross,  coarse  woman  at  his  side,  from 
whom  the  other  females  shrank  with  frequent  demon 
strations  of  contempt,  was  Pisgah's  blanchisscuse. 

He  was  in  her  debt,  and  paid  her  with  compli 
ments  ;  she  is  old  and  uninviting,  and  he  owes  her 
eight  hundred  francs.  Hers  are  the  new  garments 
which  he  wears  to-night.  Few  knew  how  many  weary 
hours  she  labored  for  them  in  the  floating  houses  upon 
the  Seine.  But  she  is  in  love  with  Pisgah,  and  is 
quite  oblivious  of  the  general  regard  ;  for,  strange  to 
such  grand  occasions,  she  has  both  eaten  and  imbibed 
enormously,  and  it  may  be  even  doubted  at  present 
whether  she  sees  anything  at  all. 

She  strokes  his  cloth  coat  with  her  red,  swollen 
hands,  and  proposes  now  and  then  that  he  shall  visit 
the  wardrobe  to  look  after  his  new  hat  ;  but  Pisgah 
only  passes  his  arm  about  her,  and  drains  his  absinthe, 
and  sometimes,  as  if  to  reassure  the  company,  shouts 
wildly  at  the  wrong  places  :  "  'At's  so,  boys  !" 


THE   REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  47 


"  Hoorah  for  you  !"  "  Ay  !  capital,  gen'l'men,  capi 
tal  !"  And  his  partner,  conscious  that  something  has 
happened,  laughs  to  her  waist,  and  leans  forward,  quite 
overcome,  as  if  she  beheld  something  mirthful  over  her 
washboard. 

The  place  was  now  quite  dreamy  with  tobacco- 
smoke  ;  Freckle  was  riotously  sick  at  the  window,  and 
Andy  Plade,  who  had  been  borrowing  small  sums  from 
everybody  who  would  lend,  struck  the  table  with  a 
corkscrew,  and  called  for  order. 

"  Drire  rup  !"  cried  Mr.  Freckle,  looking  very  at 
tentively,  but  seeing  nothing. 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  state,  gentlemen  of  the  Colony, 
that  we  have  with  us  to-night  an  eloquent  representa 
tive  of  our  country — one  whose  business  energy  and 
enterprise  have  been  useful  both  to  his  own  fortunes 
and  to  the  South — one  who  is  a  friend  of  yours,  and 
more  than  a  dear  friend  to  me.  We  came  from  the 
same  old  Palmetto  State,  the  first  and  the  last  ditch  of 
our  revolution.  I  give  you  a  toast,  gentlemen,  to 
which  Mr.  Hugenot  will  respond  : 

'  The  Mother  Country  and  the  Colony — good  luck 
to  both  !'  " 

"  Hoorah  for  you  !"  cried  Pisgah,  looking  the  wrong 
way. 

The  glasses  rattled  an  instant,  amid  iterations  of 
"  Hear  !  hear  !"  and  Mr.  Hugenot,  rising,  as  it  ap 
peared  from  a  bandbox,  carefully  surveyed  himself  in 
a  mirror  opposite,  and  touched  his  nose  with  a  small 
nosegay. 

"  I  feel,  my  friends,  rather  as  your  host  than  your 
guest  to-night — " 


48  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 


("  It  isn't  yesternight" — from  Freckle — "  it's  to- 
morroer  night.") 

"  For  I,  gentlemen,  stand  upon  my  hereditary,  if 
not  my  native  heath  ;  and  you  are,  at  most,  French 
men  by  adoption.  That  ancestry  whose  deeds  will 
live  when  the  present  poor  representative  of  its  name 
is  departed  drew  from  this  martial  land  its  blood  and 
genius." 

(Loud  cries  of  "  Gammon"  from  Freckle,  and  dis 
approbation  from  Simp.) 

"  From  the  past  to  the  present,  my  friends,  is  a 
short  transition.  I  found  you  in  Paris  a  month  ago, 
poor  and  dejected.  You  are  here  to-night,  with  that 
luxury  which  was  your  heritage.  And  how  has  it  been 
restored  ?" 

("  'At's  so  !"  earnestly,  from  Pisgah.) 

"  By  hard,  grovelling  work  ?  Never  !  No  contact 
with  vulgar  clay  has  soiled  these  aristocratic  hands. 
The  cavalier  cannot  be  a  mudsill  !  You  are  not  like 
the  lilies  of  the  field  ;  they  toil  not,  neither  do  they 
spin.  You  have  not  toiled,  gentlemen,  but  you  have 
spun  !" 

(Great  awakening,  doubt,  and  bewilderment.) 

"  You  have  spun  the  roulette  ball,  and  you  have 


won 


(Ferocious  and  unparalleled  cheering.) 

"  And  it  has  occurred  to  me,  my  friends,  that  ou-ah 
cause,  in  the  present  tremendous  struggle,  has  been 
well  symbolized  by  these,  its  foreign  representatives. 
Calamity  came  upon  the  South,  as  upon  you.  It  had 
indebtedness,  as  you  have  had.  Shall  I  say  that  you, 
like  the  South,  repudiated  ?  No  !  that  is  a  slander  cf 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  49 


our  adversaries.  But  the  parallel  holds  good  in  that 
we  found  ourselves  abandoned  by  the  world.  Nations 
abroad  gave  us  no  sympathy  ;  our  neighbors  at  home 
laughed  at  our  affliction.  They  would  wrest  from  us 
that  bulwark  of  our  liberties,  the  African." 

"  Capital,  gentlemen,  capital  !"  from  Pisgah. 

11  They  demanded  that  we  should  toil  for  ourselves. 
Did  we  do  so  ?  Never  !  We  appealed  to  the  chances, 
as  you  have  done  ;  we  would  fight  the  Yankee,  but  we 
would  not  work.  You  would  fight  the  bank,  but  you 
would  not  slave  ;  and  as  you  have  won  at  Wisbaden, 
so  have  we,  in  a  thousand  glorious  contests.  Fill, 
then,  gentlemen,  to  the  toast  which  your  chairman  has 
announced  : 

"  '  The  Mother  Country  and  the  Colony — good  luck 
to  both  !'  " 

The  applause  which  ensued  was  of  such  a  nature 
that  the  proprietors  below  endeavored  to  hasten  the 
conclusion  of  the  dinner  by  sending  up  the  bill.  Pis 
gah  and  the  blanchisseuse  were  embracing  in  a  spirited 
way,  and  Simp  was  holding  back  Freckle,  who — per 
suaded  that  Hugenot's  remarks  were  in  some  way 
derogatory  to  himself — wished  to  toss  down  his  gauntlet. 

"  The  next  toast,  gentlemen  of  the  Colony,"  said 
Andy  Plade,  "  is  to  be  dispatched  immediately  by  the 
waiter,  whom  you  see  upon  my  right  hand,  to  the  office 
of  the  telegraph  ;  thence  to  Mr.  Risque  at  Wisbaden  : 
'  The  Southern  exiles  ;  doubtless  the  most  imme- 
thodical  men  alive  ;  but  the  results  prove  they  have  the 
best  system  :  no  Risque,  no  winnings.' 

"You  will  see,  gentlemen,"  continued  Mr.  Plade, 
when  the  enthusiasm  had  subsided,  "  that  I  place  the 


5°  THE  XEBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

toast  in  this  envelope.     It  will  go  in  two  minutes  to 
Mr.  Auburn  Risque  !" 

The  waiter  started  for  the  door  ;  it  was  dashed  open 
in  his  face,  and  splattered,  dirty,  and  travel-worn,  Au 
burn  Risque  himself  stood  like  an  apparition  on  the 
threshold. 

"  Perdition  !"  thundered  Plade,  staggered  and  pale- 
faced  ;  "  you  were  not  to  break  the  bank  till  to-mor 
row." 

The  Colony,  sober  or  inebriate,  clustered  about  the 
door,  and  held  to  each  other  that  they  might  hear  the 
explanation  aright. 

Auburn  Risque  straightened  himself  and  glared  upon 
all  the  besiegers,  till  his  pock-marked  face  grew  white 
as  leprosy,  and  every  spot  in  his  secretive  eye  faded 
out  in  the  glitter  of  his  defiance. 

"  To-morrow?"  he  said,  in  a  voice  hard,  passion 
less,  inflectionless  ;  "  how  could  one  break  the  bank 
to  morrow,  when  all  his  money  was  gone  yesterday  ?" 

"  Gone  !"  repeated  the  Colony,  in  a  breath  rather 
than  a  voice,  and  reeling  as  if  a  galvanic  current  had 
passed  through  the  circle—  "  Gone  !" 

"  Every  sou,"  said  Risque,  sinking  into  a  chair. 
"  The  bank  gave  me  one  hundred  francs  to  return  to 
Paris  ;  I  risked  twenty-five  of  it,  hopeful  of  better 
luck,  and  lost  again.  Then  I  had  not  enough  money 
to  get  home,  and  for  forty  kilometres  of  the  way  I  have 
driven  a  charctte.  See  !'  he  cried,  throwing  open  his 
coat  ;  "  I  sold  my  vest  at  Compiegne  last  night,  for  a 
morsel  of  supper." 

"  But  you  had  won  seven  thousand  one  hundred 
francs  !" 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  51 

"  I  won  more — more  than  eighteen  thousand  francs  ; 
but,  enlarging  my  stakes  with  my  capital,  one  hour 
brought  me  down  to  a  sou." 

"  The  '  system'  was  a  swindle,"  hissed  Mr.  Simp, 
looking  up  through  red  eyes  which  throbbed  like  pulses. 
"  What  right  had  you  to  plunder  us  upon  your  specu 
lation  ?" 

'The  'system'  could  not  fail,"  answered  the 
gamester,  at  bay  ;  "it  must  have  been  my  manner  of 
play.  I  think  that,  upon  one  run  of  luck,  I  gave  up 
my  method." 

"  We  do  not  know,"  cried  Simp,  tossing  his  hands 
wildly  ;  "we  may  not  accuse,  we  may  not  be  enraged 
— we  are  nothing  now  but  profligates  without  means, 
and  beggars  without  hope  !" 

They  sobbed  together,  bitterly  and  brokenly,  till 
Freckle,  not  entirely  sober,  shouted,  "  Good  God,  is  it 
that  gammon-head,  Hugenot,  who  has  ruined  us  ?  Fetch 
him  out  from  his  ancestry  ;  let  me  see  him,  I  say  ! 
Where  is  the  man  who  took  my  three  hundred  francs  !" 

"  I  wish,"  said  Simp,  in  a  suicidal  way,  "  that  I 
were  lying  by  Lees  in  the  fosse  commune.  But  I  will 
not  slave  ;  the  world  owes  every  man  a  living  !" 

"  Ay  !"  echoed  the  rest,  as  desperately,  but  less  res 
olutely. 

'  This  noise,"  said  one  of  the  waiters  politely, 
"  cannot  be  continued.  It  is  at  any  rate  time  for  the 
salon  to  be  closed.  We  will  thank  you  to  pay  your  bill, 
and  settle  your  quarrels  in  the  garden." 

"Here  is  the  account, "  interpolated  Andy  Plade, 
"  dinner  for  thirteen  persons,  nineteen  hundred  and 
fifty  francs, 


52  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

"  Manes  of  my  ancestry  !"  shrieked  Hugenot,  over 
turning  the  blanchisseuse  in  his  way,  and  rushing  from 
the  house. 

"  We  have  not  the  money  !"  cried  the  whole  Colony 
in  chorus  ;  and,  as  if  by  concert,  the  company  in 
mass,  male  and  female,  cleared  the  threshold  and  dis 
appeared,  headed  by  Andy  Plade,  who  kept  all  the  sub 
scriptions  in  his  pockets,  and  terminated  by  Freckle, 
who  was  caught  at  the  base  of  the  stairs  and  held  for 
security. 

VII. 

THE    COLONY    DISBANDED. 

THE  Colony,  as  a  bod)',  will  appear  no  more  in  this 
transcript.  The  greatness  of  their  misfortune  kept 
them  asunder.  They  closed  their  chamber-doors,  and 
waited  in  hunger  and  sorrow  for  the  moment  when  the 
sky  should  be  their  shelter  and  beggary  their  craft. 

It  was  in  this  hour  of  ruin  that  the  genius  of  Mr. 
Auburn  Risque  was  manifest.  The  horse  is  always 
sure  of  a  proprietor,  and  with  horses  Mr.  Risque  was 
more  at  home  than  with  men. 

"  Man  is  ungrateful,"  soliloquized  Risque,  keeping 
along  the  Rue  Mouffetard  in  the  Chiffoniers'  Quarter  ; 
"  a  horse  is  invariably  faithful,  unless  he  happens  to 
be  a  mule.  Confound  men  !  the  only  excellence  they 
have  is  not  a  virtue — they  can  play  cards  !" 

Here  he  turned  to  the  left,  followed  some  narrow 
thoroughfares,  and  stopped  at  the  great  horse  market, 
a  scene  familiarized  to  Americans,  in  its  general  fea 
tures,  by  Rosa  Bonheur's  "  La  Foire  du  Chevaux." 

Double  rows   of  stalls  enclosed  a  trotting  course, 


THE   REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  53 

roughly  paved,  and  there  was  an  artificial  hill  on  one 
side,  where  draught-horses  were  tested.  The  animals 
were  gayly  caparisoned,  whisks  of  straw  affixed  to  the 
tails  indicating  those  for  sale  ;  their  manes  and  fore 
locks  were  plaited,  ribbons  streamed  over  their  front 
lets,  they  were  muzzled  and  wore  wooden  bits. 

We  have  no  kindred  exhibition  in  the  States,  so  pic 
turesque  and  so  animated.  Boors  in  blouses  were  gal 
loping  the  great -hoofed  beasts  down  the  course  by  fours 
and  sixes  ;  the  ribbons  and  manes  fluttered  ;  the  whips 
cracked,  and  the  owners  hallooed  in  patois. 

Four  fifths  of  French  horses  are  gray  ;  here,  there  was 
scarcely  one  exception  ;  and  the  rule  extended  to  the 
asses  which  moved  arnid  hundreds  of  braying  mulcts, 
while  at  the  farther  end  of  the  ground  the  teams  were 
parked,  and,  near  by,  seller  and  buyer,  book  in  hand, 
were  chaffering  and  smoking  in  shrewd  good-humor. 

One  man  was  collecting  animals  for  a  celebrated  stage- 
route,  and  the  gamester  saw  that  he  was  a  novice. 

"  Do  you  choose  that  for  a  good  horse  ?"  spoke 
up  Risque,  in  his  practical  way,  when  the  man  had  set 
aside  a  fine,  sinewy  draught  stallion. 

"  I  do  !"   said  the  man,  shortly. 
'  Then  you  have  no  eye.     He  has  a  bad  strain.     I 
can  lift  all  his  feet  but  this  one.     See  !  he  kicks  if  I 
touch  it.     Walk  him  now,  and  you  will  remark  that  it 
tells  on  his  pace." 

The  man  was  convinced  and  pleased.  "  You  are  a 
judge,"  he  said,  glancing  down  Risque's  dilapidated 
dress  ;  "I  will  make  it  worth  something  to  you  to  re 
main  here  during  the  day  and  assist  me." 

The  imperturbable  gamester  became  a  feature  of  the 


54  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

sale.  He  was  the  best  rider  on  the  ground.  He  put 
his  hard,  freckled  hand  into  the  jaws  of  stallions,  and 
cowed  the  wickedest  mule  with  his  spotted  eye.  He 
knew  prices  as  well  as  values,  and  had,  withal,  a  dash 
ing  way  of  bargaining,  which  baffled  the  traders  and 
amused  his  patron. 

"  You  have  saved  me  much  money  and  many 
mistakes,"  said  the  latter,  at  nightfall.  "  Who  are 
you  ?" 

"  I  am  the  man,"  answered  Risque,  straightforward 
ly,  "  to  work  on  your  stage-line,  and  I  am  dead  broke." 

The  man  invited  Risque  to  dinner  ;  they  rode  to 
gether  on  the  Champs  Elysees  ;  and  next  morning  at 
daylight  the  gamester  left  Paris  without  a  thought  or  a 
farewell  for  the  Colony. 

It  was  in  the  Grand  Hotel  that  Messrs.  Hugenot 
and  Plade  met  by  chance  the  evening  succeeding  the 
dinner. 

"  I  shall  leave  Paris,  Andy,"  said  Hugenot,  regard 
ing  his  pumps  through  his  eye-glass.  "  My  ancestry 
would  blush  in  their  coffins  if  they  knew  ou-ah  cause 
to  be  represented  by  such  individuals  as  those  of  last 
evening." 

"  Let  us  go  together,"  replied  Plade,  in  his  plausible 
way  ;  "  you  cannot  speak  a  word  of  any  continental 
language.  Take  me  along  as  courier  and  companion  ; 
pay  my  travelling  expenses,  and  1  will  pay  my  own 
board." 

"  Can  I  trust  you,  Suth  Kurlinian  ?"  said  Hugenot, 
irresolutely  ;  "  you  had  no  money  yesterday." 

"  But  I  have  a  plan  of  raising  a  thousand  francs  to 
day.  What  say  you  ?" 


THE   REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  55 

"  My  family  have  been  wont  to  see  the  evidence  prior 
to  committing  themselves.  First  show  me  the  specie." 

"  Voila  /"  cried  Plade,  counting  out  forty  louis  ; 
"  the  day  after  to-morrow  I  guarantee  to  own  eighteen 
hundred  francs." 

It  did  not  occur  to  Mr.  Hugenot  to  inquire  how  his 
friend  came  to  possess  so  much  money  ;  for  Hugenot 
was  not  a  clever  man,  and  somewhat  in  dread  of  Andy 
Plade,  who,  as  his  school-mate,  had  thrashed  him  re 
peatedly,  and  even  no\v  that  one  had  grown  rich  and  the 
other  was  a  vagabond,  the  latter 's  strong  will  and  keen, 
bad  intelligence  made  him  the  master  man. 

Hugenot's  good  fortune  was  accidental  ;  his  cargoes 
had  passed  the  blockade  and  given  handsome  returns  ; 
but  he  shared  none  of  the  dangers,  and  the  traffic  re 
quired  no  particular  skill.  Hugenot  was,  briefly,  a 
favorite  of  circumstances.  The  war-wind,  which  had 
toppled  down  many  a  long,  thoughtful  head,  carried 
this  inflated  person  to  greatness. 

They  are  well  contrasted,  now  that  they  speak.  The 
merchant,  elaborately  dressed,  varnished  pumps  upon 
his  effeminate  feet,  every  hair  taught  its  curve  and 
direction,  the  lunette  perched  upon  no  nose  to  speak 
of,  and  the  wavering,  vacillating  eye,  which  has  no 
higher  regard  than  his  own  miniature  figure.  Above 
rises  the  vagabond,  straight,  athletic  and  courageous, 
though  a.  knave. 

He  is  so  much  of  a  man  physically  and  intellectu 
ally,  that  we  do  not  see  his  faded  coat-collar,  frayed 
cuffs,  worn  buttons,  and  untidy  boots.  He  is  so  little 
of  a  man  morally,  that,  to  any  observer  who  looks 
twice,  the  plausibility  of  the  face  will  fail  to  deceive. 


5  6  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

The  eye  is  deep  and  direct,  but  the  high,  jutting  fore 
head  above  is  like  a  table  of  stone,  bearing  the  ten 
broken  commandments.  He  keeps  the  lips  ajar  in  a 
smile,  or  shut  in  a  resolve,  to  hide  their  sensuality,  and 
the  fine  black  beard  conceals  the  massive  contour  of 
jaws  which  are  cruel  as  hunger. 

It  was  strange  that  Plade,  with  his  clear  conception, 
should  do  less  than  despise  his  acquaintance.  On  the 
contrary,  he  was  partial  to  Hugenot's  society.  The 
world  asked,  wonderingly,  what  capacities  had  the 
latter  ?  Was  he  not  obtuse,  sounding,  shallow  ?  Mr. 
Plade  alone,  of  all  the  Americans  in  Paris,  asserted 
from  the  first  that  Hugenot  was  far-sighted,  clcse,  ca 
pable.  Indeed,  he  was  so  earnest  in  this  enunciation 
that  few  thought  him  disinterested. 

It  was  Master  Simp  who  heard  a  bold  step  on  the 
stairs  that  night,  and  a  resolute  knock  upon  his  own 
door. 

"  Arrest  for  debt  !"  cried  Mr.  Simp,  falling  tearfully 
upon  his  bed  ;  "  I  have  expected  the  summons  all 
day." 

'  The  next  man  may  come  upon  that  errand,"  an 
swered  the  ringing  voice  of  Andy  Plade.  "  Freckle 
sleeps  in  Clichy  to-night  ;  Risque  cannot  be  found  ; 
the  rest  are  as  badly  off  ;  I  have  news  for  you." 

I  am  the  man  to  be  mocked,"  pleaded  Simp  ; 
"  but  you  must  laugh  at  your  own  joke  ;  I  am  too 
wretched  to  help  you." 

'  The  Yankees  have  opened  the  Mississippi  River  ; 
Louisiana  is  subjugated,  and  communication  re-estab 
lished  with  your  neighborhood  ;  you  can  go  home." 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  57 

"  What  fraction  of  the  way  will  this  carry  me  ?"  said 
the  other,  holding  up  a  five-franc  piece.  "  My  home 
is  farther  than  the  stars  from  me." 

"  It  is  a  little  sum,"  urged  Mr.  Plade  ;  "  one  hun 
dred  dollars  should  pay  the  whole  passage." 

Mr.  Simp,  in  response,  mimicked  a  man  shovelling 
gold  pieces,  but  was  too  weak  to  prolong  the  pleas 
antry,  and  sat  down  on  his  empty  trunk  and  wept,  as 
Plade  thought,  like  a  calf. 

"  Your  case  seems  indeed  hopeless,"  said  the  elder. 
"  Suppose  I  should  borrow  five  hundred  dollars  on 
your  credit,  would  you  give  me  two  hundred  for  my 
trouble  ?". 

Mr.  Simp  said,  bitterly,  that  he  would  give  four  hun 
dred  and  ninety-five  dollars  for  five  ;  but  Plade  pressed 
for  a  direct  answer  to  his  original  proffer,  and  Simp 
cried  "  Yes,"  with  an  oath. 

'  Then  listen  to  me  !  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt 
that  your  neighbors  have  made  full  crops  for  two  years 
— cotton,  sugar,  tobacco.  All  this  remains  at  home 
unsold  and  unshipped — yours  with  the  rest.  Take  the 
oath  of  allegiance  to  the  Yankee  Government  before  its 
chargt  des  affaires  in  Paris.  That  will  save  your  crops 
from  confiscation,  and  be  your  passport  to  return. 
Then  write  to  your  former  banker  here,  promising  to 
consign  your  cotton  to  him,  if  he  will  advance  five 
hundred  dollars  to  take  you  to  Louisiana.  He  knows 
you  received  of  old  ten  thousand  dollars  per  annum. 
He  will  risk  so  small  a  sum  for  a  thing  so  plausible  and 
profitable." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  have  been  saying,"  mut 
tered  Simp.  "  I  cannot  comprehend  a  scheme  so  in- 


5§  THE   REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

tricate  ;  you  bewilder  me  !  What  is  a  consignment  ? 
How  am  I,  bigad  !  to  make  that  clear  in  a  letter  ? 
Perhaps  my  speech  in  the  case  of  Rutledge  vs.  Pinck- 
ney  might  come  in  well  at  this  juncture." 

"  Write  !"  cried  Plade,  contemptuously  ;  "  write  at 
my  dictation." 

That  night  the  letter  was  mailed  ;  Mr.  Simp  was 
summoned  to  his  banker's  the  following  noon,  and  at 
dusk  he  met  Andy  Plade  in  the  Place  Vendome,  and 
paid  over  a  thousand  francs  with  a  sigh. 

On  the  third  night  succeeding,  Messrs.  Plade  and 
Hugenot  were  smoking  their  cigars  at  Nice,  and  Mr. 
Simp,  without  the  least  idea  of  what  he  meant  to  do, 
was  drinking  cocktails  on  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

"  Francine, "  said  Pisgah,  with  a  woful  glance  at  the 
dregs  of  absinthe  in  the  tumbler,  "give  me  a  half 
franc,  my  dear  ;  1  am  poorly  to-day." 

"Monsieur  Pisgah,"  answered  Madame  Francine, 
"  give  me  nine  hundred  and  sixty-five  francs,  seventy- 
five  centimes — that  is  your  bill  with  me — and  ]  am 
poorly  also." 

My  love,"  said  Pisgah,  rubbing  his  grizzled  beard 
against  the  madame's  fat  cheek,  "  you'  are  not  hard 
hearted.  You  will  pity  the  poor  old  exile.  I  love  you 
very  much,  Francine." 

"  Stand  off  !"  cried  the  madame  ;  "  TOUS  iii1  embate  ! 
You  say  you  love  me  ;  then  marry  me  !" 

"  Nonsense,  my  angel  !" 

"  I  say  marry  me  !"  repeated  the  madame,  stamping 
her  foot.  "  You  are  rich  in  America.  You  have  slaves 
and  land  and  houses  and  fine  relatives.  You  will  get 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  59 

all  these  when  the  war  closes  ;  but  if  you  die  of  starva 
tion  in  Paris,  they  amount  to  nothing.  Marry  me  ! 
1  will  keep  you  alive  here  ;  you  will  give  me  half  of 
your  possessions  there  !  I  shall  be  a  grand  lady,  lide 
in  my  carriage,  and  have  a  nasty  black  woman  to  wash 
my  fine  clothes." 

'  That  is  impossible,  Francine,"  answered  Pisgah, 
not  so  utterly  degraded  but  he  felt  the  stigma  of  such  a 
proposition  from  his  blanchisseuse—zxi&  as  he  leaned 
his  faded  hairs  upon  his  unnerved  and  quivering  hands, 
the  old  pride  fluttered  in  his  heart  a  moment  and  paint 
ed  rage  upon  his  neck  and  temples. 

"  You  are  insulted,  my  lord  count  !"  cried  Madame 
Francine;  "an  alliance  with  a  poor  washerwoman 
would  shame  your  great  kin.  Pay  me  my  money,  you 
beggar  !  or  I  shall  put  the  fine  gentleman  in  prison  for 
debt." 

'  That  would  be  a  kindness  to  me,  madame,"  said 
Pisgah,  very  humbly  and  piteously. 

"  You  are  right,"  she  made  answer,  with  a  mocking 
laugh  ;  "  I  will  not  save  your  life  :  you  shall  starve, 
sir  !  you  shall  starve  !" 

In  truth,  this  consummation  seemed  very  close,  for 
as  Pisgah  entered  his  creamery  soon  afterward,  the 
proprietor  met  him  at  the  threshold. 

"Monsieur  Pisgah,"  he  said,  "you  can  have 
nothing  to  eat  here,  until  you  pay  a  part  of  your  bill 
with  me  ;  I  am  a  poor  man,  sir,  and  have  children." 

Pisgah  kept  up  the  street  with  heavy  forebodings,  and 
turned  into  the  place  of  a  clothes-merchant,  to  whom 
his  face  had  long  been  familiar.  When  he  emerged,  his 
handsome  habits,  the  gift  of  Madame  Francine,  hung 


60  THE   KEBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

in  the  clothes-dealer's  window,  and  Mr.  Pisgah,  wear 
ing  a  common  blouse,  a  cap,  and  coarse  hide  shoes,  re 
paired  to  the  nearest  wine-shop,  and  drank  a  dead 
man's  portion  of  absinthe  at  the  zinc  counter.  Then 
he  returned  to  his  own  hotel,  but  as  he  reached  to  the 
rack  tor  his  key,  the  landlady  laid  her  hand  upon  it 
and  shook  her  head. 

11  You  are  properly  dressed,  Monsieur  Pisgah,"  she 
said  ;  "  those  who  have  no  money  should  work  ;  you 
cannot  sleep  in  twenty-six  to  night,  sir  ;  I  have  shut 
up  the  chamber,  and  seized  the  little  rubbish  which 
you  left." 

Pisgah  was  homeless — a  vagabond,  an  outcast.  He 
walked  unsteadily  along  the  street  in  the  pleasant  even 
ing,  and  the  film  of  tears  that  shut  the  world  from  his 
eyes  was  peopled  with  far-off  and  familiar  scenes. 

He  saw  his  father's  wide  acres,  with  the  sunset  gild 
ing  the  fleeces  of  his  sheep  and  crowning  with  fire  the 
stacks  of  grain  and  the  vanes  upon  his  granges.  Then 
the  twilight  fell,  and  the  slaves  went  homeward  singing, 
while  the  logs  on  the  brass  andirons  lit  up  the  windows 
of  the  mansion,  and  every  negro  cabin  was  luminous, 
so  that  in  the  night  the  homestead  looked  like  a  village. 
Then  the  moon  rose  above  the  woods,  making  the  lawn 
frosty,  and  shining  upon  the  long  porch,  where  his 
mother  came  out  to  welcome  him,  attended  by  the  two 
house-dogs,  which  barked  so  loudly  in  their  glee  that 
all  the  hen-coops  were  alarmed,  and  the  peacocks  in 
the  trees  held  their  tails  to  the  stars  and  trilled. 

"  Come  in,  my  son,"  said  the  mother,  looking 
proudly  upon  the  tall,  straight  shape  and  glossy  locks  ; 
"  the  supper  is  smoking  upon  the  table  ;  here  is  your 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  7/V  PARIS.  Ci 

familiar  julep,  without  which  you  have  no  appetite  ; 
the  Maryland  biscuit  are  unusually  good  this  evening, 
and  there  is  the  yellow  pone  in  the  corner,  with  Sukey, 
your  old  nurse,  behind  it.  Do  you  like  much  cream 
in  your  coffee,  as  you  used  to  ?  Bless  me  !  the  par 
tridge  is  plump  as  a  duck  ;  but  here  is  your  napkin, 
embroidered  with  your  name  ;  let  us  ask  a  blessing  be 
fore  we  eat  !" 

While  all  this  is  going  on,  the  cat,  which  has  been 
purring  by  the  fire,  takes  a  wicked  notion  to  frighten 
the  canary  bird,  but  the  high  old  clock  in  the  corner, 
imported  from  England  before  the  celebrated  Revolu 
tionary  war,  impresses  the  cat  as  a  very -formidable 
object  with  its  stately  stride-stride-stride — so  that  the 
cat  regarding  it  a  moment,  forgets  the  canary  bird,  and 
mews  for  a  small  portion  of  cream  in  a  saucer. 

"  Halloo  !  halloo  !"  says  the  parrot,  awakened  by  a 
leap  of  the  fire  ;  for,  the  back-log  has  broken  in  half, 
and  Pisgah  sees,  by  the  increased  light,  the  very  hair- 
powder  gleam  on  the  portrait  of  General  Washington. 
But  now  the  cloth  is  removed,  and  the  old-fashioned 
table  folds  up  its  leaves  ;  they  sip  some  remarkable 
sherry,  which  grandfather  regards  with  a  wheezy  sort 
of  laugh,  and  after  they  have  played  one  game  of 
draughts,  Mr.  Pisgah  looks  at  his  gold  chronometer, 
and  asks  if  he  has  still  the  great  room  above  the  porch 
and  plenty  of  bedclothes. 

This  is  what  Mr.  Pisgah  sees  upon  the  film  of  his 
tears — wealth,  happiness,  manliness  !  When  he  dashes 
the  tears  themselves  to  the  pavement  with  an  oath, 
what  rises  upon  his  eye  and  his  heart  ?  Paris — grand, 
luxurious,  pitiless,  and  he,  at  twilight,  flung  upon  the 


62  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  FARfS. 

world,  with  neither  kindred  nor  country — a  thing  un 
willing  to  live,  unfit  to  die  ! 

He  strolled  along  the  quay  to  the  Morgue  ;'  the 
beautiful  water  of  St.  Michel  fell  sibilantly  cold  from 
the  fountain,  and  Apollyon  above,  at  the  feet  of  the 
avenging  angel,  seemed  a  sermon  and  an  allegory  of  his 
own  prostration.  How  all  the  folks  upon  the  bridge 
were  stony  faced  !  It  had  never  before  occurred  to 
him  that  men  were  cold-blooded  creatures.  He  won 
dered  if  the  Seine,  dashing  against  the  quays  and  piers 
beneath,  were  not  their  proper  element  ?  Ay  !  for 
here  were  three  drowned  people  on  the  icy  slabs  of  the 
Morgue,  with  half  a  hundred  gazing  wistfully  at  them, 
and  their  fixed  eyes  glaring  fishily  at  the  skylight,  as  if 
it  were  the  surface  of  the  river  and  they  were  at  rest 
below. 

So  seemed  all  the  landscape  as  he  kept  down  the 
quay — the  lines  of  high  houses  were  ridges  only  in  the 
sea,  and  Notre  Dame,  lifting  its  towers  and  sculptured 
fafade  before,  was  merely  a  high-decked  ship,  with 
sailors  crowding  astern.  The  holy  apostles  above  the 
portal  were  more  like  human  men  than  ever,  with  their 
silicious  eyes  and  pulseless  bosoms  ;  while  the  hideous 
gargoyles  at  the  base  of  each  crocheted  pinnacle,  seemed 
swimming  in  the  dusky  evening. 

It  may  have  been  that  this  aqueous  phenomenon  was 
natural  to  one  "  half-seas  over  ;"  but  not  till  he  stood 
on  the  place  of  the  Hotel  de  la  Ville,  did  Pisgah  have 
any  consciousness  whatever  that  he  walked  upon  the 
solid  world. 

At  this  moment  he  was  reminded,  also,  that  he  held 
a  letter  in  his  hand,  his  landlady's  gift  at  parting  ;  it 


THE  REBEL   COLONY  IN  PAR IS.  63 

was    dated,  "  Clichy   dungeon,"   and  signed  by  Mr. 
Freckle. 

"  Dear  Pisgah,"  read  the  text,  "  I  am  here  at  claim 
of  restaurateur  ;  shall  die  to-morrow  at  or  before 
twelve  o'clock,  if  Andy  Plade  don't  fork  over  my  sub 
scription  of  two  hundred  francs.  Andy  Plade  damned 
knave — no  mistake  !  No  living  soul  been  to  see  me, 
except  letter  from  Hon.  Mr.  Slidell.  He  has  got  six 
teen  thousand  dollars  in  specie  for  Simp.  Where's 
Simp,  dogorn  him  !  Hon.  S.  sent  to  Simp's  house  ; 
understood  he'd  sailed  for  America.  Requested  Hon. 
S.  to  give  me  small  part  of  money  as  Simp's  next 
friend.  Hon.  S.  declined.  Population  of  prison  very 
great.  Damned  scrub  stock  !  Don't  object  to  im 
prisonment  as  much  as  the  fleas.  Fleas  bent  on  aiding 
my  escape.  If  they  crawl  with  me  to-morrow  night  as 
far  again  as  last  night  I'll  be  clear — no  mistake  !  Live 
on  soup,  chiefly.  Abhor  soup.  Had  forty  francs  here 
first  day,  but  debtor  with  one  boot  and  spectacles  won 
it  at  picquet.  Restaurateur  says  bound  to  keep  me  here 
a  thousand  years  if  I  don't  sock — shall  die — no  mis 
take  !  Come  see  me,  toute  suite.  Fetch  pocket-comb, 
soap,  and  English  Bible. 

"  Yours,  in  deep  waters,  FRECKLE." 

'  The  whole  world  is  in  deep  waters,"  said  Pisgah, 
dismally.  "  So  much  the  better  for  them  ;  here  goes 
for  something  stronger  !" 

He  repaired  to  the  nearest  drinking-saloon,  and 
demanded  a  glass  brimful  of  absinthe,  at  which  all  the 
garcons  and  patrons  held  up  their  hands  while  he  drank 
it  to  the  dregs. 


64  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 


"  Sacristie  !"  cried  a  man  with  mouth  wide  open, 
"  that  gentleman  can  drink  clear  laudanum." 

"  I  wish,"  thought  Pisgah,  with  a  pale  face,  "  that 
it  had  been  laudanum  ;  I  should  have  been  dead  by 
this  time  and  all  over.  Why  don't  I  get  the  delirium 
tremens  ?  I  should  like  to  be  crazy.  Oh,  ho,  ho,  ho  !" 
he  continued,  laughing  wildly,  "  to  be  in  a  hospital — 
nurses,  soft  bed,  good  food,  pity— oh,  ho!  that  would 
be  a  fate  fit  for  an  emperor." 

Here  his  eye  caught  something  across  the  way  which 
riveted  it,  and  he  took  half  a  step  forward,  exultingly. 
A  great  caserne,  or  barrack,  adjoined  the  Hotel  de  Ville, 
and  twice  every  da)',  after  breakfast  and  dinner,  the 
soldiers  within  distributed  the  surplus  of  their  rations 
to  mendicants  without.  The  latter  were  already  as 
sembling — laborers  in  neat,  common  clothing,  with 
idlers  and  profligates  not  more  forbidding,  while  a  sol 
dier  on  guard  directed  them  where  to  rest  and  in  what 
order  or  number  to  enter  the  building.  Pisgah  halted 
a  moment  with  his  heart  in  his  throat.  But  he  was  very 
hungry,  and  his  silver  was  half  gone  already  ;  if  he 
purchased  a  dinner,  he  might  not  be  left  with  sufficient 
to  obtain  a  bed  for  the  night. 

"  Great  God  !"  he  said  aloud,  lifting  his  clenched 
hands  and  swollen  eyes  to  the  stars,  "  am  I,  then,  among 
the  very  dogs,  that  I  should  beg  the  crumbs  of  a  com 
mon  soldier  ?" 

He  took  his  place  in  the  line,  and  when  at  length 
his  turn  was  announced,  followed  the  rabble  shame 
facedly.  The  chasseurs  in  the  mess-room  were  making 
merry  after  dinner  with  pipes  and  cards,  and  one  of 
these,  giving  Pisgah  a  piece  of  bread  and  a  tin  basin  of 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  65 

strong  soup,  slapped  him  smartly  upon  the  shoulder, 
and  cried  : 

"  My  fine  fellow  !  you  have  the  stuff  in  you  for  a 
1  soldier.'* 

"  I  am  just  getting  a  soldier's  stuff  into  me,"  re 
sponded  Pisgah,  antithetically. 

"  Why  do  you  go  abroad,  hungry,  ill-dressed,  and 
houseless,  when  you  can  wear  the  livery  of  France  ?" 

Pisgah  thought  the  soldier  a  very  presuming  person. 

"  I  am  a  foreigner,"  he  said,  "  a — a — a  French 
Canadian  (we  speak  patois  there).  My  troubles  are 
temporary  merely.  A  da)' or  two  may  make  me  rich." 

"  Yet  for  that  day  or  two,"  continued  the  chasseur, 
"  you  will  have  the  humiliation  of  begging  your  bread. 
What  signifies  seven  years  of  honorable  service  to 
three  days  of  mendicancy  and  distress  ?  We  are  well 
cared  for  by  the  nation  ;  we  are  respected  over  the 
world.  It  is  a  mean  thing  to  be  a  soldier  in  other 
lands  ;  here  we  are  the  gentlemen  of  PVance." 

Pisgah  had  never  looked  upon  it  in  that  light,  and 
said  so. 

"  Your  poverty  may  have  unmanned  you,"  repeated 
the  other  ;  "to  recover  your  own  esteem  do  a  manly 
act !  We  have  all  feared  death  as  citizens  ;  but  take 
cold  steel  in  your  hand,  and  you  can  look  into  your 
grave  without  a  qualm.  I  say  to  you,"  spoke  the 
chasseur,  clearly  and  eloquently,  "  be  one  of  us.  De 
cide  now,  before  a  doubt  mars  your  better  resolve  ! 
You  are  a  young  man,  though  the  soulless  career  of  a 
citizen  has  anticipated  the  whitening  of  your  hairs. 
Plant  your  foot  ;  throw  back  your  shoulders  ;  say 
'yes!'  " 


66  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS 

"  I  do  !"  cried  Pisgah,  with  something  of  the  other's 
enthusiasm  ;  "  I  was  born  a  gentleman,  I  will  die  a 
gentleman,  or  a  soldier." 

They  put  Mr.  Pisgah  among  the  conscripts  recently 
levied,  and  he  went  about  town  with  a  fictitious  num 
ber  in  his  hat,  joining  in  their  bacchanal  choruses. 
The  next  day  he  appeared  in  white  duck  jacket  and 
pantaloons,  looking  like  an  overgrown  baker's  boy, 
with  a  chapeau  like  a  flat,  burnt  loaf.  He  was  then 
put  through  the  manual,  which  seemed  to  indicate  all 
possible  motions  save  that  of  liquoring  up,  and  when 
he  was  so  fatigued  that  he  had  not  the  energy  even  to 
fall  down,  he  was  clasped  in  the  arms  of  Madame 
Francine,  who  had  traced  him  to  the  barracks,  but  was 
too  late  to  avert  his  destiny. 

'"Oh!  mon  amant  /"  she  ciied,  falling  upon  his 
neck.  "  Why  did  you  go  and  do  it  ?  You  knew  that 
I  did  not  mean  to  see  you  starve." 

"  You  have  consigned  me  to  a  soldier's  grave, 
woman  !"  answered  Pisgah,  in  the  deepest  tragedy 
tone. 

"  Do  not  say  so,  my  bonbon  /"  pleaded  the  good 
lady,  covering  him  with  kisses.  "  I  would  have  worn 
my  hands  to  the  bone  to  save  you  from  this  dreadful 
life.  Suppose  you  should  be  sent  to  Algiers  or  Mexico, 
or  some  other  heathen  country,  and  die  there." 

It  was  Pisgah's  turn  to  be  touched. 

"  My  blood  is  upon  your  head,  Francine  !  Have 
you  any  money  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes  !  a  gentleman,  a  noir,  a  natgre,  for  whom 
I  have  washed,  paid  me  fifty  francs  this  evening.  It  is 
all  here  ;  take  it,  my  love  !" 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  67 

"  I  do  not  know,  creature  !  that  your  conduct  per 
mits  me  to  do  so,"  said  Pisgah,  drawing  back. 

"  You  will  drive  me  mad  if  you  refuse, "  shrieked  the 
blanchisseuse.  "  Oh  !  oh  !  how  wicked  and  wretched 
am  I  !" 

"  Enough,  madame  !  step  over  the  way  for  my 
habitual  glass  of  absinthe.  Be  particular  about  the 
change.  We  military  men  must  be  careful  of  our  in 
comes.  Stay  !  you  may  embrace  me  if  you  like." 

The  poor  woman  came  every  day  to  the  barracks, 
bringing  some  trifle  of  food  or  clothing.  She  washed 
his  regimentals,  burnished  his  buckles  and  boots,  paid 
his  losses  at  cards,  and  bought  him  books  and  tobacco. 
She  could  never  persuade  herself  that  Pisgah  was  not 
her  victim,  and  he  found  it  useful  to  humor  the  notion. 

Down  in  the  swift  Seine,  at  her  booth  in  the  great 
lavatory,  where  the  ice  rushed  by  and  the  rain  beat  in, 
she  thought  of  Pisgah  as  she  toiled  ;  and  though  her 
back  ached  and  her  hands  were  flayed,  she  never  won 
dered  if  her  lot  were  not  the  most  pitiable,  and  his  in 
part  deserved. 

How  often  should  we  hard,  selfish  men,  thank  God 
for  the  weaknesses  of  women  ! 

VIII. 

THE    MURDER    ON     THE    ALPS. 

AND  so,  with  Mr.  Pisgah  on  the  road  to  glory,  Mr. 
Simp  on  the  smooth  sea,  Mr.  Freckle  in  the  debtor's 
jail,  Mr.  Risque  behind  his  four-in-hand,  and  Mr.  Lees 
in  the  charity  grave,  let  us  sit  with  the  two  remaining 
colonists  in  the  cabriolet  at  Bellinzona  ;  for  it  is  the 


68  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

month  of  April,  and  they  are  to  cross  the  great  St. 
Gothard  en  route  for  Paris.  Here  is  the  scene  :  a 
gloomy  stone  building  for  the  diligence  company  ;  two 
great  yellow  diligences,  empty  and  unharnessed  in  the 
area  before  ;  one  other  diligence,  packed  full,  with  the 
horses'  heads  turned  northward,  and  the  blue-nosed 
Swiss  clerk  calling  out  the  names  of  passengers  ;  a 
half-dozen  cabriolets  looking  at  each  other  irresolutely 
and  facing  all  possible  ways  ;  two  score  of  unwashed 
loungers  in  red  neck-kerchiefs  and  velvet  jackets, 
smoking  rank,  rakish,  black  cigars  ;  several  streets  of 
equal  crookedness  and  filthiness  abutting  against  a 
grimy  church,  whence  beggars,  old  women,  and  priests 
emerge  continually  ;  and  far  above  all,  as  if  suspended 
in  the  air,  a  grim,  battlemented  castle,  a  defence,  as  it 
seems,  against  the  snowy  mountains  which  march  upon 
Bellinzona  from  every  side  to  crush  its  orchards  and 
vineyards  and  drown  it  in  the  marshes  of  Lago  Mag- 
giore. 

"  Diligenza  compito  /"  cries  the  clerk,  moving  toward 
the  waiting  cabriolet — "  Signore  Hugenoto." 

"  Here  !"  replies  a  small,  consequential-looking  per 
son,  reconnoitring  the  interior  of  the  vehicle. 

"  Le  Signore  Plaedo  !" 

"  Ci,"  responds  a  dark,  erect  gentleman,  striding 
forward  and  saying,  in  clear  Italian,  "  Are  there  no 
other  passengers  ?" 

"  None, "  answered  the  clerk;  "you  will  have  a 
good  time  together  ;  please  remember  the  guard  !" 

The  guard,  however,  was  in  advance,  a  tall  person, 
wrapped  to  the  eyes  in  fur,  wearing  a  silver  bugle  in 
front  of  his  cap,  and  covered  with  buff  breeches. 


TIIR  KEBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  69 

He  flourished  his  whip  like  a  fencing-master,  moved 
in  a  cloud  of  cigar-smoke,  and,  as  he  placed  his  bare 
hand  upon  the  manes  of  his  horses,  they  reined  back, 
as  if  it  burned  or  frosted  them. 

"My  ancestry,"  says  the  small  gentleman,  "en 
courage  no  imposition.  Shall  we  give  the  fellow  a 
franc  ?" 

The  other  had  already  given  double  the  sum,  and  it 
was  odd, 'now  that  one  looked  at  him,  how  pale  and 
hard  had  grown  his  features. 

"  God  bless  me,  Andy  !"  cries  the  little  person, 
stopping  short  ;  "  you  have  not  had  your  breakfast  to 
day  ;  apply  my  smelling-bottle  to  your  nose  ;  you  are 
sick,  man  !" 

'  Thank  you,"  says  the  other,  "  I  prefer  brandy  ;  I 
am  only  glad  that  we  are  quite  alone." 

The  paleness  faded  out  of  his  cheeks  as  he  drank 
deeply  of  the  spirits,  but  the  jaws  were  set  hard,  and 
the  eyes  looked  stony  and  pitiless.  The  man  was  ail 
ing  beyond  all  doubt. 

The  whip  cracked  in  front  ;  the  great  diligence  start 
ed  with  a  groan  and  a  crackling  of  joints  ;  the  little 
postilion  set  the  cabriolet  going  with  a  chirp  and  a 
whistle  ;  the  priests  and  idlers  looked  up  excitedly  ; 
the  women  rushed  to  the  windows  to  flutter  their  hand 
kerchiefs,  and  all  the  beggars  gave  sturdy  chase,  drop 
ping  benedictions  and  damnations  as  they  went. 

The  small  person  placed  his  boots  upon  the  empty 
cushion  before  and  regarded  them  with  some  benevo 
lence  ;  then  he  touched  his  mustache  with  a  comb, 
which  he  took  from  the  head  of  his  cane. 

"  It  is  surprising,  Andy,"  he  said,  "  how  the  growth 


70  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

of  one's  feet  bears  no  proportion  to  that  of  his  head. 
Observe  those  pedals.  One  of  my  ancestors  must  have 
found  a  wife  in  China.  They  have  gained  no  increase 
after  all  these  pilgrimages — and  1  flatter  myself  that 
they  are  in  some  sort  graceful — ay  ?  Now  remark  my 
head.  What  does  Hamlet,  or  somebody,  say  about 
the  front  of  Jove  ?  This  trip  to  Italy  has  actually  en 
larged  the  diameter  of  my  head  thirteen  barleycorns  ! 
Thirteen,  by  measurement  !" 

The  tall  gentleman  said  not  a  word,  but  compressed 
his  tall  shoulders  into  the  corner  of  the  coach,  and 
muffled  his  face  with  his  coat-collar  and  breathed  like 
one  sleeping  uneasily. 

"  It  has  been  a  cheap  trip  !"  exclaimed  the  diminu 
tive  person,  changing  the  theme  ;  "  you  have  been  an 
invaluable  courier,  Andy.  The  most  ardent  patriot 
cannot  call  us  extravagant." 

"How  much  money  have  you  left?"  echoed  the 
other  in  a  suppressed  tone.  "  Count  it.  I  will  then 
tell  you  to  a  sou  what  will  carry  us  to  Paris." 

The  little  person  drew  a  wallet  from  his  side-pocket 
and  enumerated  carefully  certain  circular  notes. 
"  Eleven  times  twenty  is  two  hundred  and  twenty  ; 
twenty-five  times  two  hundred  and  twenty,  five  thou 
sand  five  hundred,  plus  nine  gold  louis — total,  five 
thousand  seven  hundred  and  twenty-five  francs." 

One  eye  only  of  the  large  gentleman  was  visible 
through  the  folds  of  his  collar.  It  rested  like  a 
charmed  thing  upon  the  roll  of  gold  and  paper.  It 
was  only  an  eye,  but  it  seemed  to  be  a  whole  face,  an 
entire  man.  It  was  full  of  thoughts,  of  hopes,  of  acts  ! 
Had  the  little  person  marked  it,  thus  sinister,  and  glit- 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  71 

tering  and  intense,  he  would  have  shrunk  as  from  a 
burning-glass. 

He  folded  up  the  wallet,  however,  and  slipped  it 
into  his  inside-pocket,  while  the  other  pushed  forward 
his  hat,  so  that  it  concealed  even  the  eye,  and  sat  rigid 
and  still  in  his  corner. 

"  You  have  not  named  the  fare  to  Paris." 

The  tall  man  only  breathed  short  and  hard. 

"  Don't  you  recollect  ?" 

"No!" 

"  I  have  a  '  Galignani '  here  ;  perhaps  it  is  adver 
tised.  But  hallo,  Andy  !" 

The  exclamation  was  loud  and  abrupt,  but  the  silent 
person  did  not  move. 

' '  The  Confederate  Privateer  Planter  will  sail  from 
Dieppe  on  Tuesday — (that  is,  to-morrow  evening) — she 
will  cruise  in  the  Indian  Ocean,  if  report  be  true. ' ' 

The  tall  man  started  suddenly  and  uncovered  his 
face  with  a  quick  gesture.  It  was  flushed  and  earnest 
now,  and  he  clutched  the  journal  almost  nervously, 
though  his  voice  was  yet  calm  and  suppressed. 

'  To-morrow  night,  did  you  say  ?  A  cruise  on  the 
broad  sea — glory  without  peril,  gold  without  work  ;  I 
would  to  God  that  I  were  on  the  Planter's  deck,  Hu- 
genot  !" 

"  Why  not  do  something  for  ou-ah  cause,  Andy  ?" 

"  I  am  to  return  to  Paris  for  what  ?  To  be  dunned 
by  creditors,  to  be  marked  for  a  parasite  at  the  hotels, 
to  be  despised  by  men  whom  I  serve,  and  pitied  by 
men  whom  I  hate.  This  pirate  career  suits  me.  What 
is  society  to  me,  whom  it  has  ostracised  ?  I  was  a 
gentleman  once — quick  at  books,  pleasing  in  company, 


72  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

shrewd  in  business.  They  say  that  I  have  power  still, 
but  lack  integrity.  Be  it  so  !  Better  a  freebooter  at 
sea  than  upon  the  land.  I  have  half  rnade  up  my 
mind  to  evil.  Hugenot,  listen  to  me  !  I  believe  that 
were  I  to  do  one  bad,  dark  deed,  it  would  restore  me 
courage,  resolution,  energy." 

The  little  gentleman  examined  the  other  with  some 
alarm  ;  but  just  now  the  teams  commenced  the  ascent 
of  a  steep  hill,  and  as  he  beheld  the  guard  a  little  way 
in  advance,  he  forgot  the  other's  earnestness,  and  raised 
his  lunette. 

"  Andy,"  he  said,  "  by  my  great  ancestry  !  I  have 
seen  that  man  before.  Look  !  the  height,  the  style, 
the  carriage,  are  familiar.  Who  is  he  ?" 

His  co-voyageur  was  without  curiosity  ;  the  former 
pallidness  and  silentness  resumed  their  dominion  over 
him,  and  the  lesser  gentleman  settled  moodily  back  to 
his  newspaper. 

No  word  was  interchanged  for  several  hours.  They 
passed  through  shaggy  glens,  under  toppled  towers  and 
battlements,  by  squalid  villages,  and  within  the  sound 
of  dashing  streams.  If  they  descended  ever,  it  was  to 
gain  breath  for  a  longer  ascent  ;  for  now  the  mountain 
snows  were  above  them  on  either  side,  and  the  Alps 
rose  sublimely  impassable  in  front.  The  hawks 
careened  beneath  them  ;  the  chamois  above  dared  not 
look  down  for  dizziness,  and  Hugenot  said,  at  Ariola, 
that  they  were  taking  lunch  in  a  balloon.  The  manner 
of  Mr.  Plade  now  altered  marvellously.  It  might  have 
been  his  breakfast  that  gave  him  spirit  and  speech  ;  he 
sang  a  merry,  bad  song,  which  the  rocks  echoed  back, 
and  all  the  goitred  women  at  the  roadside  stopped  with 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  73 

their  pack  burdens  to  listen.  He  told  a  thousand 
anecdotes.  He  knew  all  the  story  of  the  pass  ;  how 
the  Swiss,  filing  through  it,  had  scattered  the  Milanese  ; 
how  Suwarrow  and  Massena  had  made  its  sterility  fer 
tile  with  blood. 

Hugenot's  admiration  amounted  to  envy.  He  had 
never  known  his  associate  so  brilliant,  so  pleasing  ;  the 
exaltation  was  too  great,  indeed,  to  arise  from  any  or 
dinary  cause  ;  but  Hugenot  was  not  shrewd  enough  to 
inquire  into  the  affair.  He  wearied  at  length  of  the 
talk  and  of  the  scene,  and  when  at  last  they  reached 
the  region  of  perpetual  ice,  he  closed  the  cabriolet  win 
dows,  and  watched  the  filtering  flakes,  and  heard  the 
snow  crush  under  the  wheels,  and  dropped  into  a  deep 
sleep  which  the  other  seemed  to  share. 

The  clouds  around  them  made  the  mountains  dusky, 
and  the  interior  of  the  carriage  was  quite  gloomy.  At 
length  the  large  gentleman  turned  his  head,  so  that  his 
ear  could  catch  every  breath,  and  he  regarded  the  dim 
outlines  of  the  lesser  with  motionless  interest.  Then 
he  took  a  straw  from  the  litter  at  his  feet,  and,  bending 
forward,  touched  his  comrade's  throat.  The  other 
snored  measuredly  for  a  while,  but  the  titillation 
startled  him  at  length,  and  he  beat  the  air  in  his  slum 
ber.  When  the  irritation  ceased  he  breathed  tranquilly 
again,  and  then  the  first-named  placed  his  hand  softly 
into  the  sleeper's  pocket.  He  drew  forth  the  wallet 
with  steady  fingers,  and  as  coolly  emptied  it  of  its 
contents.  These  he  concealed  in  the  leg  of  his  boot, 
but  replaced  the  book  where  he  had  found  it.  For 
a  little  space  he  remained  at  rest,  leaning  against  the 
back  of  the  carriage,  with  his  head  bent  upon  his 


74  THE   REBEL   COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

breast  and  his  hands  clenched  like  one  at  bay  and  in 
doubt. 

The  slow  advance  of  the  teams  and  the  frequent 
changes  of  direction — sometimes  so  abrupt  as*  almost  to 
reverse  the  cabriolet — advised  him  that  they  were 
climbing  the  mountain  by  zigzags  or  terraces.  He 
knew  that  they  were  in  the  Val  Tremola^  or  Trembling 
Way,  and  he  shook  his  comrade  almost  fiercely,  as  if 
relieved  by  some  idea  which  the  place  suggested. 

"  Hugenot, "  he  said,  "  rouse  up  !  The  grandeur  of 
the  Alps  is  round  about  us  ;  you  must  not  miss  this 
scene.  Come  with  me  !  Quit  the  vehicle  !  I  know 
the  place,  and  will  exhibit  it." 

The  other,  accustomed  to  obey,  leaped  to  the  ground 
immediately,  and  followed  through  the  snow,  ankle 
deep,  till  they  passed  the  diligence,  which  kept  in  ad 
vance.  The  guard  could  not  be  seen — he  might  have 
resorted  to  the  interior  ;  and  the  two  pedestrians  at 
once  left  the  roadway,  climbing  its  elbows  by  a  path 
more  or  less  distinctly  marked,  so  that  after  a  half  hour 
they  were  perhaps  a  mile  ahead.  The  agility  of  Mr. 
Plade  during  this  episode  was  the  marvel  of  his  compan 
ion.  He  scaled  the  rocks  like  a  goatherd,  and  his  foot- 
tracks  in  the  snow  were  long,  like  the  route  of  a  giant. 
The  ice  could  not  betray  the  sureness  of  his  stride  ; 
the  rare,  thin  atmosphere  was  no  match  for  his  broad, 
deep  chest.  He  shouted  as  he  went,  and  tossed  great 
boulders  down  the  mountain,  and  urged  on  his  flagging 
Comrade  by  cheer  and  taunt  and  invective.  No 
madman  set  loose  from  captivity  could  be  guilty  of  so 
extravagant,  exaggerated  elation. 

At  last  they  stood  upon  a  little  bridge  spanning   a 


THE  REBEL   COLONY  IN  PARIS.  75 

chasm  like  a  cobweb.  A  low  parapet  divided  it  from 
the  awful  gulf.  On  the  other  side  the  mountain  lifted 
its  jagged  face,  clammy  with  icicles,  and  far  oser  all 
towered  the  sterile  peaks,  above  the  reach  of  clouds  or 
lightnings,  forever  in  the  sunshine — forever  desolate. 

"  Stand  fast  !"  said  the  leader,  suddenly  cold  and 
calm.  "  Uncover,  that  the  snow-flakes  may  give  us 
the  baptism  of  nature  !  There  is  no  human  God  at 
this  vast  height  ;  they  worship  Him  in  the  flat  world 
below.  Give  me  your  hand  and  look  down  !  You  are 
not  dizzy  ?  One  should  be  free  from  the  baseness  of 
fear,  standing  here  upon  St.  Gothard." 

"  If  I  had  no  qualm  before,"  said  Hugenot,  "  your 
words  would  make  me  shudder." 

'  You  have  heard  of  the  '  valley  of  the  shadow  '? 
Was  your  ideal  like  this  ?  I  told  you  in  Florence  of 
the  great  poet  Dante.  You  have  here  at  a  glance  more 
beauty  and  dread  conjoined  than  even  his  mad  fancy 
could  conjure  up.  That  is  the  Tessino,  braining  itself 
in  cataracts.  Yonder,  where  the  clouds  make  a  golden 
lake,  laving  forests  of  firs,  lies  Italy  as  the  Goths  first 
beheld  it,  with  their  spears  quivering.  See  how  the 
eagles  beat  the  mist  beneath  ! — that  was  a  symbol  that 
the  Roman  standards  should  be  rent." 

The  other,  half  in  charm,  half  in  awe,  listened  like 
one  spell-bound,  with  his  fingers  tingling  and  his  eye 
balls  throbbing. 

"  This  silence,"  said  the  elder,  "  is  more  freezing 
to  me  than  the  bitterness  of  the  cold.  The  very  snow- 
flakes  are  dumb  ;  nothing  makes  discord  but  the  ava 
lanche  ;  it  is  always  twilight  ;  men  lie  down  in  the 
snows  to  die,  but  they  are  numb  and  cannot  cry." 


76  THE   REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

"  Be  still,"  replied  the  other,  "  your  talk  is  strangely 
out  of  place.  I  feel  as  if  my  ancestors  in  their  shrouds 
were  beside  me." 

"  You  are  not  wrong,"  cried  the  greater,  raising  his 
voice  till  it  became  shrill  and  terrible  ;  "  your  last  mo 
ments  are  passing  ;  that  yawning  ravine  is  your  grave. 
I  told  you  an  hour  ago  how  one  bad,  dark  deed  would 
redeem  me.  It  is  done  !  I  have  robbed  you,  and 
your  death  is  essential  to  my  safety." 

Hugenot  sank  upon  the  snow  of  the  parapet,  speech 
less  and  almost  lifeless.  He  clasped  his  hands,  but 
could  not  raise  his  head  ;  the  whole  scene  faded  from 
his  eye.  If  he  had  been  weak  before,  he  was  impotent 
now. 

The  strong  man  held  him  aloft  by  the  shoulders  with 
an  iron  grasp,  and  his  cold  eye  gave  evidence  to  the 
horrible  validity  of  his  words. 

"  I  do  not  lie  or  play,  Hugenot,"  he  said,  in  the 
same  clear  voice  ;  "I  have  premeditated  this  deed  for 
many  weeks.  You  are  doomed  !  Only  a  miracle  can 
help  you.  The  dangers  of  the  pass  will  be  my  excul 
pation  ;  it  will  be  surmised  that  you  fell  into  the  ravine. 
There  will  be  no  marks  of  violence  upon  you  but  those 
of  the  sharp  stones.  We  have  been  close  comrades. 
Only  Omniscience  can  have  seen  premeditation.  I 
have  brought  you  into  this  wilderness  to  slay  you  !" 

The  victim  had  recovered  sufficiently  to  catch  a  part 
of  this  confession.  His  lips  framed  only  one  reply — 
the  dying  man's  last  straw  : 

"  After  death  !"  he  said  ;  "  have  you  thought  of 
that?" 

"  Ay,"  answered  the  other,  "  long  and  thoroughly. 


THE  REBEL   COLONY  IN  PARIS.  77 


Phantoms,  remorses  and  hells — they  have  all  had  their 
argument.      I  take  the  chances." 

It  was  only  a  moment's  struggle  that  ensued.  The 
wretch  clung  to  the  parapet,  and  called  on  God  and 
mercy.  He  was  lifted  on  high  in  the  strong  arms,  and 
whirled  across  the  barrier.  The  other  looked  grimly 
at  the  falling  burden.  He  wondered  if  a  dog  or  a  goat 
would  have  been  so  long  falling.  The  distance  was 
profound  indeed  ;  but  to  the  murderer's  sanguine 
thought  the  body  hung  suspended  in  the  air.  It  would 
not  sink.  The  clouds  seemed  to  bear  it  up  for  testi 
mony  ;  the  cold  cliffs  held  aloft  (heir  heads  for  justice  ; 
the  snow-flakes  fell  like  the  ballots  of  jurymen,  voting 
for  revenge — all  nature  seemed  roused  to  animation  by 
this  one  act.  An  icicle  dropped  with  a  keen  ring  like 
a  knife,  and  the  stream  below  pealed  a  shrill  alarum. 

He  had  done  the  bad,  dark  deed.  Was  he  more 
resolute  or  courageous  now  that  he  had  taken  blood 
upon  his  hands  and  shadow  upon  his  soul  ? 

The  body  disappeared  at  length,  carried  downward 
by  the  torrent  ;  but  a  wild  bird  darted  after  it,  as  if  to 
reveal  the  secret  of  its  concealment,  and  then  a  noise 
like  a  human  footfall  crackled  in  the  snow. 

"  I  like  a  man  who  takes  the  chances,"  said  a  cold, 
hard  voice  ;  "  but  Chance,  Andy  Plade,  decides  against 
you  to-day." 

IX. 

THE    ONE    GOOD    DEED    OF    A    PRIVATEERSMAN. 

THE  murderer  turned  from  his  reverie  with  hands 
extended  and  trembling  ;  the  snow  was  not  more 
bleached  than  his  bloodless  face,  and  his  feet  grew 


7§  THE   REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

slippery  and  infirm.  An  alcove,  which  he  had  not 
marked,  was  hewn  in  the  brow  of  the  precipice.  It  had 
been  intended  to  shelter  pilgrims  fiom  the  wind  and 
the  snow  ;  and  there,  wrapped  in  his  buff  garments, 
whose  hue,  assimilating  to  that  of  the  rock,  absorbed 
him  from  detection,  stood  a  witness  to  the  deed — the 
guard  to  the  diligence — none  other  than  Auburn  Risque. 

For  an  instant  only  the  accused  shrank  back.  Then 
his  body  grew  short  and  compact  ;  he  was  gathering 
himself  up  for  a  life-struggle. 

"  Hold  off  !"  said  Risque,  in  his  old,  hard,  meas 
ured  way  ;  "  we  guards  go  armed  ;  if  you  move,  I  shall 
scatter  your  brains  in  the  snow  ;  if  I  miss  you,  a  note 
of  this  whistle  will  summon  my  postilions." 

The  cold  face  was  never  more  emotionless  ;  he  held  a 
revolver  in  his  hand,  and  kept  the  other  in  his  blank, 
spotted  eye,  as  if  locating  the  vital  parts  with  the  end 
to  bring  him  down  at  a  shot. 

"  You  do  not  play  well,"  said  Risque  at  length,  when 
the  other,  ghastly  white,  sat  speechless  upon  the  para 
pet  ;  "  if  you  were  the  student  of  chance,  that  I  have 
been,  you  would  know  that  at  murder  the  odds  are 
always  against  you  !" 

"You  will  not  betray  me?"  pleaded  Plade  ;  "so 
inveterate  a  gamester  can  have  no  conventional  ideas 
of  life  or  crime.  I  am  ready  to  pay  for  your  discretion 
with  half  my  winnings." 

"  I  am  a  gambler,"  said  Risque,  curtly  ;  "  not  an 
assassin  !  I  always  give  my  opponents  fair  show.  But 
I  will  not  touch  blood-money." 

"  What  fair  show  do  you  give  me  ?" 

"  Two  hours'  start.     I  am  responsible  for  my  pas- 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  79 

sengers.  Go  on,  unharmed,  if  you  will.  But  at  Hos 
pice  I  shall  proclaim  you.  Every  moment  that  jou 
falter  spins  the  rope  for  your  gallows  !" 

Plade  did  not  dally,  but  took  to  flight  at  once.  He 
climbed  by  the  angles  of  the  terraces,  and  saw  the  dili 
gence  far  below  tugging  up  the  circuitous  road.  He 
ran  at  full  speed  ;  no  human  being  was  abroad  besides, 
but  yet  there  were  other  footfalls  in  the  snow,  other 
sounds,  as  of  a  man  breathing  hard  and  pursued  upon 
the  lonely  mountain.  The  fugitive  turned — once, 
twice,  thrice  ;  he  laughed  aloud,  and  shook  his  clenched 
hand  at  the  sky.  Still  the  flat,  dead  tramp  followed 
close  behind,  and  the  pace  seemed  not  unfamiliar.  It 
could  not  be — his  blood  ceased  to  circulate,  and  stood 
freezing  at  the  thought — was  it  the  inarch,  the  tread  of 
Hugenot  ? 

He  dropped  a  loud  curse,  like  a  howl,  and  kept  upon 
his  way.  The  footfalls  were  as  swift  ;  he  saw  their 
impressions  at  his  heels — prints  of  a  small,  lithe, 
human  foot,  made  by  no  living  man.  He  shut  his  e}es 
and  his  ears,  but  the  consciousness  remained,  the  inex 
plicable  phenomenon  of  some  invisible  but  familiar 
thing  which  would  not  leave  him  ;  which  made  its 
register  as  it  passed  ;  which  no  speed  could  outstrip, 
no  argument  exorcise. 

Was  it  a  sick  fancy,  a  probed  heart,  or  did  the  phan 
tom  of  the  dead  man  indeed  give  chase  ? 

Ah  !  there  is  but  one  class  of  folks  whose  faith  in 
spirits  nothing  can  shake — the  guilty,  the  bloody- 
handed. 

He  came  to  a  perturbed  rest  at  the  huge,  half-hospit 
able  Hospice,  to  the  enthusiasm  of  the  postilions. 


8o  THE  REBEL   COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

"  Will  the  gentleman  have  a  saddle-horse  ?" 

"  A  chariot  ?" 

"  A  cabriolet  ?" 
'  Ten  francs  to  Andermatt  !" 

'  Thirty  francs  to  Fluelen  !" 

"  One  hundred  francs,"  cried  Plade,  "  for  the  fleet 
est  pony  to  Andermatt.  Ten  francs  to  the  postilion 
who  can  saddle  him  in  two  minutes.  My  mother  is 
dying  in  Lyons." 

He  climbed  one  of  the  dark  flights  of  stairs,  and  an 
old,  uncleanly  monk  gave  him  a  glass  of  Kerschwasser. 
He  descended  to  the  stables,  and  cursed  the  Swiss 
lackeys  into  speed.  He  gave  such  liberal  largess  that 
there  was  an  involuntary  cheer,  and  as  he  galloped 
away  the  great  diligence  appeared  in  sight  to  rouse  his 
haste  to  frenzy. 

The  telegraph  kept  above  him  —  a  single  line  ;  he 
knew  the  tardiness  of  foot  when  pursued  by  the  light 
ning.  In  one  place,  the  conductor,  wrenched  from  the 
insulators,  dropped  almost  to  the  ground.  There  was 
a  strap  upon  his  saddle  ;  he  reined  his  nag  to  the  side 
of  the  road,  and,  making  a  knot  about  the  wire,  dashed 
off  at  a  bound  ;  the  iron  snapped  behind  ;  his  triumph 
ant  laugh  pealed  yet  on  the  twilight,  when  the  cries  of 
his  pursuers  rang  over  the  fields  of  snow.  They  were 
aroused  ;  he  was  fleetly  mounted,  but  they  came  behind 
in  sledges. 

The  night  closed  over  the  road  as  he  caught  the 
wizard  bells.  The  moonlight  turned  the  peaks  to  fire. 
The  dark  firs  shook  down  their  burdens  of  snow. 
There  were  cries  of  wild  beasts  from  the  ravines  below. 
The  post-houses  were  red  with  firelight.  The  steed 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  8 1 


floundered  through  the  snow-drifts  driven  by  blow  and 
halloo.  It  was  a  fearful  ride  upon  the  high  Alps  ;  the 
sublimity  of  nalure  bowed  down  to  the  mystery  of 
crime  ! 

Bright  noon,  on  the  third  day  succeeding,  saw  the 
fugitive  emerge  from  the  railway  station  at  Dieppe. 
He  had  escaped  the  Swiss  frontier  with  his  life,  but 
had  failed  to  make  sure  that  escape  by  reaching  the 
harbor  at  the  appointed  time.  Broken  in  spirit,  grown 
old  already,  he  faltered  toward  the  town,  and,  stopping 
on  the  fosse-bridge,  looked  sorrowfully  across  the  ship 
ping  in  the  dock.  Something  caught  his  regard  amid 
the  cloud  of  tri-color  ;  he  looked  again,  shading  his  eye 
with  a  tremulous  palm.  There  could  not  be  a  doubt 
—  it  was  the  Confederate  standard — the  Stars  and  Bars. 

The  Planter  had  been  delayed  ;  she  waited  with 
steam  up  and  an  expectant  crew  ;  her  slender  masts 
leaned  against  the  sky  ;  her  anchor  was  lifted  ;  a  knot 
of  idlers  watched  her  from  the  quay. 

In  a  moment  Mr.  Plade  was  on  board.  lie  asked 
for  the  commander,  and  a  short,  gristly,  sunburnt  per 
sonage  being  indicated,  he  introduced  himself  with  that 
plausible  speech  which  had  wooed  so  many  to  their  fall. 

"I  am  a  Charlestonian,"  said  Plade;  "  a  Yankee 
insulted  me  at  the  Grand  Hotel  ;  we  met  in  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne,  and  I  ran  him  through  the  body.  His 
friends  in  Paris  conspire  against  my  life.  I  ask  to 
save  it  now,  only  to  die  on  your  deck,  that  it  may  be 
worth  something  to  my  country." 

They  went  below,  and  the  privateer  put  the  applicant 
through  a  rigid  examination. 

' '  This  vessel  must  get  to  sea  to  night, ' '  he  said.     ' '  I 


82  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 


will  not  hazard  trouble  with  the  French  authorities 
by  keeping  you  here.  Spend  the  afternoon  ashore  ;  we 
sail  at  eleven  o'clock  precisely  ;  if  at  that  time  you 
come  aboard,  I  will  take  you." 

Plade    protested    his   gratitude,    but    the   skipper 
motioned  him  to  peace. 

"  You  seem  to  be  a  gentleman,"  he  added  ;  "if  I 
find  you  so,  you  shall  be  my  purser.  But,  hark  !"  he 
looked  keenly  at  the  other,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  his 
throat — "  I  am  under  the  espionage  of  the  Yankee  am 
bassador.  There  are  spies  who  seek  to  join  my  crew 
for  treasonable  ends  ;  if  1  find  you  one  of  these,  you 
shall  hang  to  my  yard-arm  !" 

The  felon  walked  into  the  dim  old  city,  and  seated 
himself  in  a  wine-shop.  Some  market  folks  were  chant 
ing  in  patois,  and  their  lighl-heartedness  enraged  him. 
He  turned  up  a  crooked  street,  and  stopped  before  an 
ancient  church,  grotesque  with  broken  buttresses, 
pinnacles,  and  gargoyles.  The  portal  was  wide  open, 
and,  as  he  entered,  some  scores  of  school-children  burst 
suddenly  into  song.  It  seemed  to  him  an  accusation, 
shouted  by  a  choir  of  angels. 

At  the  end  of  the  city,  facing  the  sea,  rose  a  massive 
castle.  He  scaled  its  stairs,  and  passed  through  the 
courtyard,  and,  crossing  the  farther  moat,  stood  upon 
a  grassy  hill — once  an  outwork — whence  the  blue 
channel  was  visible  half  way  to  England. 

A  knot  of  soldiers  came  out  to  regard  him,  and  his 
fears  magnified  their  curiosity  ;  he  ran  down  the  para 
pet,  to  their  surprise,  and  re-entered  the  town  by  a 
roundabout  way.  "  I  will  take  a  chamber,"  he  said, 
"  and  shun  observation." 


THE  REBEL   COLONY  IN  PARIS.  83 

An  old  woman,  in  a  starched  cap,  who  talked  inces 
santly,  showed  him  a  number  of  rooms  in  a  great  stone 
building.  He  chose  a  garret  among  the  chimney-stacks, 
and  lit  a  fire,  and  ordered  a  newspaper  and  a  bottle  of 
brandy.  He  sat  down  to  read  in  loneliness.  As  he 
surmised,  the  murder  was  printed  among  the  "Fails 
Divers  ;  '  it  gave  his  name  and  the  story  of  the  tragedy. 
His  chair  rattled  upon  the  tiles  as  he  read,  and  the 
tongs,  wherewith  he  touched  the  fire,  clattered  in  his 
nervous  fingers. 

The  place  was  not  more  composed  than  himself  ;  the 
flame  was  the  noisiest  in  the  world  ;  it  crackled  and 
crashed  and  made  horrible  shadows  on  the  walls. 
There  were  rats  under  the  floor  whose  gnawings  were 
like  human  speech,  and  the  old  house  appeared  to  settle 
now  and  then  with  a  groan  as  if  unwilling  to  shelter 
guilt.  As  he  looked  down  upon  the  clustering  roofs  of 
the  town  they  seemed  wonderfully  like  a  crowd  of  peo 
ple  gazing  up  at  his  retreat.  All  the  dormer-windows 
were  so  many  pitiless  eyes,  and  the  chimney-pots  were 
guns  and  cannon  to  batter  down  his  eyrie. 

When  night  fell  upon  the  city  and  sea,  his  fancies 
were  not  less  alarming.  He  could  not  rid  himself  of 
the  idea  that  the  dead  man  was  at  his  side.  In  vain  he 
called  upon  his  victim  to  appear,  and  laughed  till  the 
windows  shook.  It  was  there,  there,  always  THERE  ! 
He  did  not  see  it — but  it  was  there !  He  felt  its 
breath,  its  eye,  its  influence.  It  leaned  across  his 
shoulder  ;  it  gossiped  with  the  shadows  ;  it  laid  its 
hand  heavily  upon  his  pocket  where  lay  the  unholy 
gold.  Some  prints  of  saints  and  the  Virgin  upon  the 
wall  troubled  him  ;  their  faces  followed  him  wherever 


84  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

he  turned  ;  he  tore  them  down  at  length,  and  tossed 
them  in  the  fire,  but  they  blazed  with  so  great  flame 
that  he  cried  out  for  fear. 

The  town-bells  struck  the  hours  ;  how  far  apart  were 
the  strokes  !  They  tolled  rather  than  pealed,  as  if  for 
an  execution,  and  the  lamps  of  some  passing  carriages 
made  a  journey  as  of  torches  upon  the  ceiling. 

After  nine  o'clock  there  was  a  heavy  tread  upon  the 
stairs.  It  kept  him  company,  and  he  was  glad  of  its 
coming  ;  but  it  drew  so  close,  at  length,  that  he  stood 
upright,  with  the  cold  sweat  upon  his  forehead. 

The  steps  halted  at  his  threshold  ;  the  door  swung 
open  ;  a  corporal  and  a  soldier  stood  without,  and  the 
former  saluted  formally  : 

"  Monsieur  the  stranger,  will  remain  in  his  chamber 
under  guard.  I  grieve  to  say  that  he  is  an  object  of 
grave  suspicion.  Au  revoir  /" 

The  corpora]  retired  without  waiting  for  a  reply  ;  the 
soldier  entered,  and,  leaning  his  musket  against  the 
wall,  drew  a  chair  before  the  door  and  sat  down.  The 
firelight  fell  upon  his  face  after  a  moment,  and  revealed 
to  Mr.  Plade  his  old  associate,  Pisgah  ! 

The  former  uttered  a  cry  of  hope  and  surprise  ;  the 
soldier  waved  him  back  with  a  menace. 

"  I  know  you,"  he  said  ;  "  but  1  am  here  upon 
duty  ;  besides,  I  have  no  friendship  with  a  murderer." 

"  We  are  both  victims  of  a  mistake  !  This  accusa 
tion  is  not  true.  Will  you  take  rny  hand  ?" 

"  I  am  forbidden  to  speak  upon  guard,"  answered 
Pisgah,  sullenly.  "  Resume  your  chair." 

"  At  least  join  me  in  a  glass." 

"  There  is  blood  in  it,"  said  Pisgah. 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN   PARIS.  85 

"  I  swear  to  you,  no  !  Let  me  ring  for  your  old 
beverage,  absinthe." 

The  soldier  halted,  irresolutely  ;  the  liquor  came  be 
fore  he  could  refuse.  When  once  his  lips  touched  the 
vessel,  Mr.  Plade  knew  that  there  was  still  a  chance 
for  life. 

In  an  hour  Mr.  Pisgah  was  impotent  from  intoxica 
tion  ;  his  musket  was  flung  down  the  stairway,  the  door 
was  bolted  upon  him,  and  the  prisoner  was  gone. 

He  gained  the  Planter's  deck  as  the  screw  made  its 
first  revolution  ;  they  turned  the  channel-piles  with  a 
good-by  gun  ;  the  motley  crew  cheered  heartily  as  they 
cleared  the  mole. 

The  pirate  was  at  sea  on  her  mission  of  plunder — 
the  murderer  was  free  ! 

The  engines  stopped  abreast  the  city  ;  the  steamer 
lay  almost  motionless,  for  there  were  lights  upon  the 
beach  ;  a  shrill  "  Ahoy  !"  broke  over  the  intervening 
waters,  and  the  dip  of  oars  indicated  some  pursuit. 
The  crew,  half  drunken,  rallied  to  the  edge  of  the  ves 
sel  ;  knives  glittered  amid  the  confusion  of  oaths  and 
the  click  of  pistols,  while  Mr.  Plade  hastened  to  the 
skipper's  side,  and  urged  him  for  pity  and  mercy  to 
hasten  seaward. 

The  other  motioned  him  back,  coldly,  and  the  boat 
swain  piped  all  hands  upon  deck.  Lafitte  nor  Kidd 
,  never  looked  down  such  desperate  faces  as  this  gristly 
privateer,  when  his  buccaneers  were  around  him. 

"  Seamen,"  he  spoke  aloud,  "  you  are  afloat  !  Gold 
and  glory  await  you  ;  you  shall  glut  yourselves  by  the 
ruin  of  your  enemy,  and  count  your  plunder  by  the 
light  of  his  burning  merchantmen." 


86  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

The  knives  flickered  in  the  torchlight,  and  a  cheer, 
like  the  howl  of  the  damned,  went  up. 

"  On  the  brink  of  such  fortune,  you  find  yourselves 
imperilled  ;  treason  is  with  you  ;  this  pursuit,  which 
we  attend,  is  a  part  of  its  programme  !  There  is, 
within  the  sound  of  my  voice,  a  spy  ! — a  Yankee  !" 

The  weapons  rang  again  ;  the  desperadoes  pressed 
forward,  demanding  with  shrieks  and  imprecations  that 
the  man  should  be  named. 

"  He  is  here,"  answered  the  captain,  turning  full 
upon  the  astonished  fugitive.  "  He  came  to  me  with 
a  story  of  distress.  I  pitied  him,  and  gave  him  shel 
ter  ;  but  I  telegraphed  to  Paris  to  test  his  veracity,  and 
I  find  that  he  lied.  No  man  has  been  slain  in  a  duel 
as  he  states.  I  believe  him  to  be  a  Federal  emissary, 
and  he  is  in  our  power." 

A  dozen  rough  hands  struck  Plade  to  the  deck  ;  he 
staggered  up,  with  blood  upon  his  face,  and  called 
Heaven  to  witness  that  he  was  no  traitor. 

"  Did  you  speak  the  truth  to  me  to-day  ?"  cried  the 
accuser. 

"  I  did  not  ;  had  I  done  so,  you  would  have  refused 
me  relief." 

"  What  are  you  then  ?     Speak  !"  . 

The  murderer  cowered,  with  a  face  so  blanched  that 
the  blood  ceased  to  flow  at  its  gashes. 

"  I  cannot,  I  dare  not  tell  !"  he  muttered. 

The  skipper  made  a  sign  to  an  attendant.  A  rope 
from  the  yard-arm  was  flung  about  the  felon's  neck, 
and  made  fast  in  a  twinkling.  He  struggled  desper 
ately,  but  the  fierce  buccaneers  held  him  down  ;  his 
clothing  was  rent,  and  his  hairs  dishevelled  ;  he  made 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  Iff  PARIS.  87 


three  frantic  struggles  for  speech  ;  but  the  loud  cheers 
mocked  his  words  as  they  brandished  their  cutlasses  in 
his  eyes. 

Then  began  that  strange  lifetime  of  reminiscence  ; 
that  trooping  of  sins  and  cruelties,  in  sure,  unbroken 
continuity,  through  the  reeling  brain  ;  that  moment 
of  years  ;  that  great  day  of  judgment,  in  a  thought  ; 
that  last  winkful  of  light,  which  flashes  back  upon 
time,  and  makes  its  frailties  luminous.  And,  higher 
than  all  offences,  rose  that  of  the  fair  young  wife 
deserted  abroad,  left  to  the  alternatives  of  shame  or 
starvation.  Her  wail  came  even  now,  from  the  bed  of 
the  crowded  hospital,  to  follow  him  into  the  world  of 
shadows. 

"  Monsieur  the  Commander,"  hailed  the  spokesman 
in  the  launch,  "  the  government  of  his  Imperial  Majes 
ty  does  not  wish  to  interpose  any  obstacle  to  the  depar 
ture  of  the  Confederate  cruiser.  It  is  known,  however, 
that  a  person  guilty  of  an  atrocious  crime  is  concealed 
on  board.  In  this  paper,  Monsieur  the  Capitaine  will 
find  all  the  specifications.  The  name  of  the  person, 
Plade.  The  crime  of  the  person,  murder,  with  pre 
meditation.  The  giving  up  of  said  person  is  essential 
to  the  departure  of  the  cruiser  from  his  Imperial 
Majesty's  waters." 

There  was  blank  silence  on  the  deck  of  the  pri 
vateer  ;  the  torches  in  the  launch  threw  a  glare  upon 
the  water  and  sky.  They  lit  -up  something  struggling 
between  both  at  the  tip  of  the  rocking  yard-arm.  It 
was  the  effigy  of  a  man,  bound  and  suspended,  around 
which  swept  timidly  the  bats  and  gulls,  and  the  sea 
wind  beat  it  with  a  shrill,  jubilant  cry. 


88  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

"  I  have  done  justice  unconsciously,"  said  the  pri 
vateer  ;  "  may  it  be  remembered  for  me  when  I  shall 
do  injustice  consciously  !" 

X. 

THE   SURVIVING   COLONISTS. 

THE  catastrophe  of  the  Colony  and  the  episode  hav 
ing  been  attained,  we  have  only  to  leave  Mr.  Pisgah 
in  Algiers,  whither  court-martial  consigned  him,  with 
the  penalty  of  hard  labor,  and  Mr.  Risque  on  the  stage 
route  he  was  so  eminently  fitted  to  adorn.  The  un 
happy  Freckle  continued  in  the  prison  of  Clichy,  and, 
having  nothing  else  to  do,  commenced  the  novel  process 
of  thinking.  The  prison  stood  high  up  on  Clichy  Hill, 
walled  and  barred  and  guarded,  like  other  jails,  but 
within  it  a  fair  margin  of  liberty  was  allowed  the  bank 
rupts,  just  sufficient  to  make  their  fate  terrible  by 
temptation.  Some  good  soul  had  endowed  it  with  a 
library  ;  newspapers  came  every  day  ;  a  cafe  was  at 
tached  to  it,  where  spirituous  liquors  were  prohibited, 
to  the  wrath  of  the  dry  throats  and  raging  thirsts  of  the 
captives  ;  there  was  a  garden  behind  it,  and  a  billiard 
saloon,  but  these  luxuries  were  not  gratuitous  ;  poor 
Freckle  could  not  even  pay  his  one  sou  per  diem  to 
cook  his  rations,  so  that  the  Prisoners'  Relief  Associa 
tion  had  to  make  him  a  present  of  it.  He  spent  his 
time  between  his  bare,  cheerless  bedroom  and  the  pub 
lic  hall.  There  were  many  Americans  in  the  place  ; 
but  none  of  them  were  friendly  with  him  when  he  was 
found  to  have  no  cash.  Yet  he  heard  them  speak  to 
gether  of  their  countrymen  who  had  lain  in  the  same 


THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS.  89 

jail  years  before.  Yonder  was  the  room  of  Horace 
Greeley,  incarcerated  for  a  debt  which  was  not  his 
own  ;  here  the  blood-stains  of  the  Pennsylvania  youth 
who  looked  out  of  the  window,  heedless  of  warning, 
and  was  shot  dead  by  the  guard  ;  there  the  ancient 
chair,  in  which  Hallidore,  the  Creole,  sat  so  often, 
possessor  of  a  million  francs,  but  too  obstinate  to  pay 
his  tailor's  bill  and  go  free.  While  Freckle  thought  of 
these,  it  was  suggested  to  him  that  he  was  a  very  wicked 
man.  The  tuitions  of  his  patriarchal  father  came  to 
mind  ;  he  was  seen  on  his  knees,  to  the  infinite  amuse 
ment  of  the  other  debtors,  who  were,  however,  quite 
too  polite  to  laugh  in  his  face,  and  he  no  longer  staked 
his  ration  of  wine  at  cards,  whereby  he  had  commonly 
lost  it,  but  held  long  conversations  with  an  ardent  old 
priest  who  visited  the  jail.  The  priest  gave  Freckle 
brevieres  and  catechisms,  and  told  him  that  there  was 
no  peace  of  mind  outside  of  the  apostolic  fold. 

So  Freckle  diligently  embraced  the  ancient  Romish 
faith,  renounced  the  tenets  of  his  plain  old  sire  as  false 
and  heretical,  and  earnestly  prepared  himself  to  enter 
the  priesthood. 

In  this  frame  of  mind  he  was  found  by  Mr.  Simp, 
who  had  unexpectedly  returned  to  Paris,  and,  finding 
himself  again  prosperous,  came  to  release  Freckle  from 
the  toils  of  Clichy. 

The  latter  waved  him  away.  "  I  wish  to  know  none 
of  you,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  serve  out  this  term,  and 
never  again  speak  to  an  American  abroad." 

He  was  firm,  and  achieved  his  purpose.  Enthusiasm 
often  answers  for  brains,  and  Freckle's  religious  zeal 
made  him  a  changed  man.  He  entered  a  Jesuits' 


90  THE  REBEL    COLONY  IN  PARIS. 

school  after  his  discharge,  and  in  another  fashion  be 
came  as  stern,  severe,  and  self-denying  as  had  been  his 
father.  He  sometimes  saw  his  old  comrade,  Simp, 
driving  down  the  Champs  Elysees  as  Freckle  came  from 
church  in  Paris,  but  the  gallant  did  not  recognize  the 
young  priest  in  his  dark  gown  and  hose,  and  wide- 
rimmed  hat. 

They  followed  their  several  directions,  and  in  the 
end,  with  the  lessening  fortunes  of  the  Confederacy, 
grew  more  moody,  and  yet  more  ruined  by  the  con 
sciousness  that  after  once  suffering  the  agony  of  ex 
patriation,  they  had  not  improved  the  added  chance  to 
make  of  themselves  men,  not  Colonists. 

It  is  not  the  pleasantest  phase  of  our  human  nature 
to  depict,  but  since  we  have  essayed  it,  let  it  close 
with  its  own  surrounding  shadow. 

If  we  have  given  no  light  touch  of  womanhood  to  re 
lieve  its  sombre  career,  we  have  failed  to  be  artistic  in 
order  to  be  true. 

But  that  which  made  the  Colonists  weak  has  passed 
away.  There  are  no  longer  slaves  at  home — may  there 
be  no  exiles  abroad  ! 


LITTLE   GRISETTE. 


LITTLE   GRISETTE. 


LITTLE  GRISETTE,  you  haunt  me  yet ; 

My  passion  for  you  was  long  ago, 

Before  my  head  was  heavy  with  snow, 
Or  mine  eye  had  lost  its  lustre  of  jet. 
In  the  dim  old  Quartier  Latin  we  met  ; 

We  made  our  vows  one  night  in  June, 

And  all  our  life  was  honeymoon  ; 
We  did  not  ask  if  it  were  sin, 

We  did  not  go  to  kirk  to  know, 
We  only  loved  and  let  the  world 

Hum  on  its  pel  fish  way  below  ; 
Marked  from  our  castle  in  the  air, 

How  pigmy  its  triumphal  cars  : 
Eight  stories  from  the  entry  stair, 

But  near  the  stars  ! 

Little  Grisette,  rich  or  in  debt, 

We  were  too  fond  to  chide  or  sigh — 
Never  so  poor  that  I  could  not  buy 

A  sweet,  sweet  kiss  from  my  little  Grisette. 

If  I  could  nothing  gain  or  get, 

By  hook,  or  crook,  or  song,  or  story, 
Along  the  starving  road  to  glory, 

I  marvelled  how  your  nimble  thimble, 
As  to  a  tune,  danced  fast  and  fleeting. 

And  stopped  my  pen  to  catch  the  music, 
But  only  heard  my  heart  a-beating  ; 


94  LITTLE   GRISETTE. 

The  quaint  old  roofs  and  gables  airy 
Flung  clown  the  light  for  you  to  wear  it, 

And  made  my  love  a  queen  in  faery, 
To  haunt  my  garret. 

Little  Grisette,  the  meals  you  set 

Were  sweeter  to  me  than  banquet  feast  ; 

Your  face  was  a  blessing  fit  for  a  priest  , 
At  your  smile  the  candle  went  out  in  a  pet  ; 
The  wonderful  chops  I  shall  never  forget  ! 

If  the  wine  was  a  trifle  too  sharp  or  rank, 

We  kissed  each  time  before  we  drank. 
The  old  gilt  clock,  aye  wrong,  was  swinging 

The  waxen  floor  your  feet  reflected  ; 
And  dear  Beranger's  chansons  singing, 

You  tricked  at  picquet  till  detected. 
You  fill  my  pipe  ; — is  it  your  eyes 

\Vhereat  I  light  your  cigarette  ? 
On  all  but  me  the  darkness  lies 

And  my  Grisette  ! 

Little  Grisette,  the  soft  sunset 

Lingered  a  long  while,  that  we  might  stay 

To  mark  the  Seine  from  the  breezy  quay 
Around  the  bridges  foam  and  fiet  ; 
How  came  it  that  your  eyes  were  wet 

\Vhen  I  ambitiously  would  be 

A  man  renowned  across  the  sea  ? 
I  told  you  I  should  come  again — 

It  was  but  half  way  round  the  globe — 
To  bring  you  diamonds  for  your  faith, 

And  for  your  gray  a  silken  robe  : 
You  were  more  wise  than  lovers  are  ; 

I  meant,  sweetheart,  to  tell  you  true, 
I  said  a  tearful  "Au  revotr;" 

You  said,  "  Adieu  !  " 


LITTLE    GRISETTE.  95 

Little  Grisette,  we  both  regret, 

For  I  am  wedded  more  than  wived  ; 

Those  careless  days  in  thought  revived 
But  teach  me  I  cannot  forget. 
Perhaps  old  age  must  pay  the  debt 

Young  sin  contracted  long  ago — 

I  only  know,  I  only  know, 
That  phantoms  haunt  me  everywhere 

By  busy  day,  in  peopled  gloam — 
They  rise  between  me  and  my  prayer, 

They  mar  the  holiness  of  home  ! 
My  wife  is  proud,  my  boy  is  cold, 

I  dare  not  speak  of  what  I  fret  : 
'Tis  my  fond  youth  with  thee  I  fold, 

Little  Grisette  ! 


MARRIED   ABROAD. 


MARRIED  ABROAD. 

Ax  AMERICAN  ROMANCE  OF  THE  QUARTIF.R  LATIN. 


PART    I. 

TEMPTATION. 

To  say  that  Ralph  Flare  was  "  lonesome"  would 
convey  a  feeble  idea  of  his  condition.  Four  months  in 
England  had  gone  by  wearily  enough  ;  but  in  this  great 
city  of  Paris,  where  he  might  as  well  have  had  no 
tongue  at  all,  for  the  uses  he  could  put  it  to,  he  pined 
and  chafed — and  finally  swore. 

An  oath,  if  not  relief  in  itself,  conduces  to  that 
effect,  and  it  happened  in  this  case  that  a  stranger 
heard  it. 

'You    are    English,"    said     the    stranger,    turning 
shortly  upon  Ralph  Flare. 

"  I  am  not,"  replied  that  youth,  "  I  am  an  Ameri 
can." 

'  Then   we    are    countrymen,"    cried    the     other. 
"  Have  you  dwelt  long  in  the  Hotel  du  Hibou  ?" 

Ralph  Flare  stated  that  he  hadn't  and  that  he  had, 
and  that  he  was  bored  and  sick  of  it,  and  had  resolved 
to  go  back  to  the  Republic,  and  fling  away  his  life  in 
its  armies. 


ioo  MARRIED  ABROAD. 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !"  shouted  the  other,  "  I  -see  your 
trouble — you  have  no  acquaintances.  It  is  six  o'clock  ; 
come  with  me  to  dinner,  and  you  shall  know  half  of 
Paris,  men  and  women." 

They  filed  down  the  tortuous  Rue  Jacob,  now  thrice 
gloomy  by  the  closing  shadows  of  evening,  and  turning 
into  the  Rue  de  Seine,  stopped  before  the  doorway  of 
a  little  painted  boutique,  whereon  was  written  "  Cremery 
du  Quartier  Latin. 

A  tall,  sallow,  bright-eyed  Frenchman  was  seated  at 
a  fragment  of  counter  within  the  smallest  apartment  in 
the  world,  and  addressing  this  man  as  "  Pere  George" 
the  stranger  passed  through  a  second  sash  doorway  and 
introduced  Ralph  Flare  to  the  most  miscellaneous  and 
democratic  assemblage  that  he  had  ever  beheld  in  his 
life. 

Two  long  yellow  tables  reached  lengthwise  down  a 
long,  narrow  salon,  the  floor  whereof  was  made  of  tiles, 
and  the  light  whereof  fizzed  and  flamed  from  two  un 
ruly  burners.  A  door  at  the  farther  end  opened  upon 
a  cook-room,  and  the  cook,  a  scorched  and  meagre 
woman,  was  standing  now  in  the  firelight,  talking  in  a 
high  key,  as  only  a  Frenchwoman  can  talk. 

Then  there  was  Madame  George,  fat  and  handsome, 
and  gossipy  likewise,  with  a  baby,  a  boy,  and  a  daugh 
ter  ;  and  the  patrons  of  the  place,  twenty  or  more  in 
number,  were  eating  and  laughing  and  all  speaking  at 
the  same  time,  so  that  Ralph  Flare  was  at  first  stunned 
and  afterward  astonished. 

His  new  acquaintance,  Terrapin,  went  gravely 
around  the  table,  shaking  hands  with  every  guest,  and 
Ralph  was  wedged  into  the  remotest  corner,  with 


MARRIED  ABROAD.  101 

Terrapin  upon  his  right,  and  upon  his  left  a  creature 
so  naive  and  petite  that  he  thought  her  a  girl  at  first, 
but  immediately  corrected  himself  and  called  her  a 
child. 

Terrapin  addressed  her  as  Suzette,  and  stated  that 
his  friend  Ralph  was  a  stranger  and  quite  solitary  ; 
whereat  Suzette  turned  upon  him  a  pair  of  soft,  twink 
ling  eyes,  and  laughed  very  much  as  a  peach  might  do, 
if  it  were  possible  for  a  peach  to  laugh.  He  could 
only  say  a  horrible  bonjour,  and  make  the  superfluous 
intimation  that  he  could  not  speak  French  ;  and  when 
Madame  George  gave  him  his  choice  of  a  dozen  unpro 
nounceable  dishes,  he  looked  so  utterly  blank  and  baffled 
that  Suzette  took  the  liberty  of  ordering  dinner  for 
him. 

"  You  won't  get  the  run  of  the  language,  Flare," 
said  Terrapin,  carelessly,  "  until  you  find  a  wife.  A 
woman  is  the  best  dictionary." 

"  You  mean,  I  suppose,"  said  Flare,  "  a  wife  for  a 
time." 

Little  Suzette  was  looking  oddly  at  him  as  he  faced 
her,  and  when  Ralph  blushed  she  turned  quietly  to  her 
pofage  and  gave  him  a  chance  to  remark  her. 

She  had  dark,  smooth  hair,  closing  over  a  full,  pale 
forehead,  and  her  shapely  head  was  balanced  upon  a 
fair,  round  neck.  There  was  an  alertness  in  her  erect 
ear,  and  open  nostril,  and  pointed  brows  which  indi 
cated  keen  perception  and  comprehension  ;  yet  even 
more  than  this  generic  quickness,  without  which  she 
could  not  have  been  French,  the  gentleness  of  Suzette 
was  manifest. 

Ralph  thought  to  himself  that  she  must  be  good.     It 


102  MARRIED  ABROAD 

was  the  face  of  a  sweet  sister  or  a  bright  daughter,  or 
one  of  those  school-children  with  whom  he  had  played 
long  ago.  And  withal  she  was  very  neat.  If  any 
commandment  was  issued  especially  to  the  French,  it 
enjoined  tidiness  ;  but  this  child  was  so  quietly  attired 
that  her  cleanliness  seemed  a  matter  of  nature,  not  of 
command.  Her  cheap  coral  ear-drops  and  the  thin 
band  of  gold  upon  her  white  finger  could  not  have  been 
so  fitting  had  they  been  of  diamonds  ;  and  her  tresses, 
inclosed  in  a  fillet  of  beads,  were  lied  in  a  breadth  of 
blue  ribbon  which  made  a  cunning  lover's-knot  above. 
A  plain  collar  and  wristbands,  a  bright  cotton  dress 
and  dark  apron,  and  a  delicate  slipper  below — these 
were  the  components  of  a  picture  which  Ralph  thought 
the  loveliest  and  pleasantest  and  best  that  he  had  ever 
known. 

In  his  own  sober  city  of  the  Middle  States  he  would 
have  been  ashamed  to  connect  with  these  innocent  fea 
tures  a  doubt,  a  light  thought,  a  desire.  Yet  here  in 
France,  where  climate,  or  custom,  or  man  had  changed 
the  relations  though  not  the  nature  of  woman,  he  did 
but  as  the  world,  in  blending  with  Suzette's  tranquil 
face  a  series  of  ideas  which  he  dared  not  associate  with 
what  he  had  called  pure,  beautiful,  or  happy. 

Now  and  then  they  spoke  together,  unintelligibly  of 
course,  but  very  merrily,  and  Ralph's  appetite  was  that 
of  the  great  carnivora  ;  potage,  beef,  mutton,  pullet, 
vanished  like  waifs,  and  then  came  the  salad,  which  he 
could  not  make,  so  that  Suzette  helped  him  again  with 
her  sprightly  white  fingers,  contriving  so  marvellous  a 
dish  that  Ralph  thought  her  a  little  magician,  and 
wanted  to  eat  salad  till  daybreak. 


MARRIED  ABROAD.  103 

"  Now  for  the  cards  !"  cried  Terrapin,  when  they 
had  finished  the  cafe  and  the  eau-de-vie  ;  and  as  the 
parties  ranged  themselves  about  the  greater  table,  Ter 
rapin,  who  knew  everybody,  gave  their  names  and 
avocations. 

'  That  is  Boetia,  a  journalist  on  the  Sitcle  ;  you  will 
observe  that  he  smokes  his  cigars  quite  down  to  the 
stump.  The  little  man  beside  him,  with  a  blouse,  is 
Haynau,  fellow  of  the  College  of  Beaux  Arts — dead- 
broke,  as  usual  ;  and  his  friend,  the  sallow  chap,  is 
Moise,  whose  father  died  last  week,  leaving  him  ten 
thousand  francs.  Moise,  you  will  see,  has  a  wife,  Fee- 
fine,  though  I  suspect  him  of  bigamy  ;  and  the  tall  girl, 
with  hair  like  midnight  and  a  hard  voice,  is  at  present 
unmarried.  Those  four  fellows  and  their  dames  are 
students  of  medicine.  They  have  one  hundred  francs 
a  month  apiece,  and  keep  house  upon  it." 

"  And  Su/.ette, "  said  Ralph  Flare,  impatiently. 

"  Oh,  she  is  a  couturicre,  a  dressmaker,  but  just 
now  a  clerk  at  a  glover's.  She  has  dwelt  sagely,  gen 
erally  speaking.  She  breakfasts  upon  five  sous  ;  a 
roll,  cafe,  and  a  bunch  of  grapes — her  dinner  costs 
eighty  centimes,  and  she  makes  a  franc  and  a  half  a 
day,  leaving  enough  to  pay  her  room-rent." 

"  It  is  a  little  sum — seven  dollars  and  a  half  a  month 
— how  is  the  girl  to  dress  ?" 

Terrapin  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  said  nothing. 

They  played  "  ramps,"  an  uproarious  game  ;  and 
Suzette  was  impetuous  and  noisy  as  the  rest,  with 
brightened  cheeks  and  eyes  and  a  clear,  silvery  voice. 
The  stake  was  a  bottle  of  Bordeaux.  Few  women 
play  cards  honestly,  and  Suzette  was  the  first  to  go 


104  MARRIED  ABROAD. 

out  ;  but  seeing  that  Ralph  floundered  and  tost  con 
tinually,  she  gave  him  her  attention,  looking  over  his 
hand,  and  talking  for  him,  and  counting  with  so  dex 
terous  deceit  that  he  escaped  also,  while  Terrapin  paid 
for  the  wine. 

It  was  not  the  most  reputable  amusement  in  the 
world  ;  but  the  hours  were  winged,  and  midnight  came 
untimely.  Suzette  tied  on  a  saucy  brown  flat  stream 
ing  with  ribbons,  and  bade  them  good-night,  ending 
with  Ralph,  in  whose  palm  her  little  fingers  lay  pulsing 
an  instant,  bringing  the  blood  to  his  hand. 

How  mean  the  cremery  and  its  patrons  seemed  now 
that  she  was  gone  !  The  great  clamp  at  the  portal  of 
his  hotel  sounded  very  ghostly  as  he  knocked  ;  the  con 
cierge  was  a  hideous  old  man  in  gown  and  nightcap. 

"  Toujours  seul,  monsieur"  he  said,  with  an  ugly 
grin. 

"  What  does  that  mean,  Terrapin  ?"  said  Ralph. 

"  He  says  that  you  always  come  home  alone." 

"  How  else  should  I  come  ?"  said  Ralph,  dubiously. 

"  How,  indeed  ?"  answered  Terrapin. 

It  was  without  doubt  a  dim  old  pile — the  Hotel  du 
Hibou.  What  murderers,  and  thieves,  and  Jacobins 
might  not  have  ascended  the  tiles  of  the  grand  stair 
way  ?  There  was  a  cumbrous  mantel  in  his  chamber, 
funereal  with  griffins,  and  there  were  portraits  with 
horribly  profound  eyes.  The  sofa  and  the  chairs 
were  huge  ;  the  deep  window-hangings  were  talking 
together  in  a  rustling,  mocking  way  ;  while  the  bed  in 
its  black  recess  seemed  so  very  long  and  broad  and 
high  for  one  person,  that  Ralph  sat  down  at  the  stone 
table,  too  lonely  or  too  haunted  to  sleep. 


MARRIED  ABROAD.  105 

\Vould  not  even  this  old  grave  be  made  merry  with 
sunlight,  if  little  Suzette  were  here  ? 

He  opened  the  book  of  familiar  French  phrases,  and 
began  to  copy  some  of  them.  He  worked  feverishly, 
determinedly,  for  quite  a  time.  Then  he  read  the  list 
he  had  made,  half  aloud.  It  was  this  : 

"  Good-morning,  my  pretty  one  !" 

"  Will  you  walk  with  me  ?" 

"  May  I  have  your  company  to  dinner  ?" 

"  What  is  your  name  ?" 

"  I  dare  say  you  laugh  at  my  pronunciation." 

"  I  am  lonely  in  Paris." 

"  Are  you  ?" 

"  You  ought  to  see  my  chambers." 

"  Let  me  buy  you  a  bracelet  !" 

"  I  love  you  !" 

Ralph's  voice  stopped  suddenly.  There  were  deep 
echoes  in  the  great  room,  which  made  him  thrill  and 
shudder.  How  still  and  terrible  were  the  silence  and 
loneliness  ! 

A  pang,  half  of  guilt,  half  of  fear,  went  keenly  to  his 
heart.  It  seemed  to  him  that  his  mother  was  standing 
by  his  shoulder,  pointing  with  her  thin,  tremulous  fin 
gers  to  the  writing  beneath  him,  and  saying  : 

"  My  boy,  what  does  this  mean  ?" 

He  held  it  in  the  candle-flame,  and  thought  he  felt 
better  when  it  was  burned  ;  but  he  could  not  burn  all 
those  thoughts  of  which  the  paper  was  only  a  copy. 


io6  MARRIED   ABROAD. 

PART    II. 

POSSESSION. 

IF  the  cremery  had  seemed  lonely  by  gaslight,  what 
must  Ralph  Flare  have  said  of  it  next  morning,  as  he 
sat  in  his  old  place  and  watched  the  ouvriers  at  break 
fast  ?  They  came  in,  one  by  one,  with  their  baton  of 
brown  bread,  and  called  for  two  sous'  worth  of  coffee 
and  milk.  The  men  wore  blouses  of  blue  and  white, 
and  jested  after  the  Gallic  code  with  the  sewing-girls. 
This  bread  and  coffee,  and  a  pear  which  they  should 
eat  at  noon,  would  give  them  strength  to  labor  till 
nightfall  brought  its  frugal  repast.  Yet  they  were 
happy  as  crickets,  and  a  great  deal  more  noisy. 

Here  is  little  Suzette,  smiling  and  skipping,  and 
driving  her  glances  straight  into  Ralph  Flare's  heart. 

"  Good-day,  sir,"  she  cries,  and  takes  a  chair  close 
by  him,  after  the  manner  of  a  sparrow  alighting.  She 
smooths  back  her  pure  wristbands,  disclosing  the  grace 
of  the  arm,  and  as  she  laughs  in  Ralph's  face  he  knows 
what  she  is  saying  to  herself  ;  it  is  more  doubtful  that 
he  loves  her  than  that  she  knows  it. 

"  Peut-etrc,  monsieur,  vous-avez  besoin  dcs  gants  f 

She  gave  him  the  card  of  her  boutique,  and  laughed 
like  a  sunbeam  playing  on  a  rivulet,  and  went  out  sing 
ing  like  the  witch  that  she  was. 

"  I  don't  want  gloves,  "said  Ralph  Flare  ;  "  I  won't 
go  to  her  shop." 

But  he  asked  Pere  George  the  direction,  notwith 
standing  ;  and  though  his  conscience  seemed  to  be 


MARRIED  ABROAD.  107 


blocking  up  the  way — a  tangible,  visible,  provoking 
conscience — he  put  his  feet  upon  it  and  shut  his  lips, 
and  found  the  place. 

Ralph  Flare  has  often  remarked  since — for  he  is 
quite  an  artist  now — that  of  all  scenes  in  art  or  nature 
that  boutique  was  to  him  the  rarest.  He  has  tried  to 
put  it  into  color — the  miniature  counter,  the  show-case, 
the  background  of  boxes,  each  with  a  button  looking 
mischievously  at  him,  or  a  glove  shaking  its  forefinger, 
or  a  shapely  pair  of  hose  making  him  blush,  and  the 
daintiest  child  in  the  world,  flushing  and  flirting  and 
gossiping  before  him  ;  but  the  sketch  recalls  matters 
which  he  would  forget,  his  hands  lose  command,  some 
thing  makes  his  eye  very  dim,  and  he  lays  aside  his 
implements,  and  takes  a  long  walk,  and  wears  a  sober 
face  all  that  day. 

We  may  all  follow  up  the  sequence  of  a  young  man's 
thoughts  in  doing  a  strange  wrong  for  the  first  time.  If 
Ralph's  passions  of  themselves  could  not  mislead  him, 
there  were  not  lacking  arguments  and  advisers  to  teach 
him  that  this  was  no  offence,  or  that  the  usage  war 
ranted  the  sin.  He  became  acquainted,  through  Terra 
pin,  with  dozens  of  his  countrymen  ;  the  youngest  and 
the  oldest  and  the  most  estimable  had  their  open  at 
tachments.  So  far  as  he  could  remark,  the  married 
and  the  unmarried  tradesmen's  wives  in  Paris  were 
nearly  equal  in  consideration.  How  could  he  become 
perfect  in  the  language  without  some  such  incentive 
and  associate  ? 

His  income  was  not  considerable,  but  they  told  him 
that  to  double  his  expenses  was  certain  economy.  He 
was  very  lonely,  and  he  loved  company.  His  age  was 


Io8  MARRIED  ABROAD. 

that  at  which  the  affections  and  the  instincts  alike  impel 
the  man  to  know  more  of  woman — the  processes  of 
her  mind,  her  capacities,  her  emotions,  the  idiosyn 
crasies  which  divided  her  from  his  own  sex. 

Hitherto  he  had  been  chaste,  though  once  when  he 
had  confessed  it  to  Terrapin,  that  incredulous  person 
said  something  about  the  marines,  and  repeated  it  as  a 
good  joke  ;  he  felt,  indeed,  that  he  was  not  entirely 
manly.  He  had  half  a  doubt  that  he  was  worthy  to 
walk  with  men,  else  why  had  not  his  desires,  like 
theirs,  been  stronger  than  his  virtue  ;  and  had  not  the 
very  feebleness  of  desire  proved  also  a  feebleness  of 
power  ?  But,  more  than  all,  he  had  a  weakness  for 
Suzette. 

There  was  old  Terrapin,  with  bonnets  and  dresses 
in  his  wardrobe,  and  a  sewing-basket  on  his  mantel, 
and  with  his  own  huge  boots  outside  the  door  a  pair  of 
tapering  gaiters,  and  in  his  easy-chair  a  little  being  to 
sing  and  chattel'  and  mix  his  punch  and  make  his 
cigarettes.  Ah  !  how  much  more  entrancing  would  be 
Ralph's  chamber  with  Suzette  to  garnish  it !  He  would 
make  a  thousand  studies  of  her  face  ;  she  should  be 
his  model,  his  professor,  his  divinity  !  What  was  gross 
in  her  he  would  refine  ;  what  dark  he  would  make 
known.  They  would  walk  together  by  the  river  side, 
into  the  parks,  into  the  open  country.  He  would  know 
no  regrets  for  the  fiiends  across  the  sea.  Europe 
would  become  beautiful  to  him,  and  his  art  wonld  find 
inspiration  from  so  much  loveliness.  No  indissoluble 
tie  would  bind  them,  to  make  kindness  a  duty  and  love 
necessity.  No  social  tyranny  should  prescribe  where 
he  should  visit,  and  where  she  should  not.  The  hues 


MARRIED  ABROAD.  109 

of  the  picture  deepened  and  brightened  as  he  imagined 
it.  He  was  resolved  to  do  this  thing,  though  a  phan 
tom  should  come  to  his  bedside  every  night,  and  every 
shadow  be  his  accusation. 

He  committed  to  memory  some  phrases  of  French  ; 
Terrapin  was  his  interpreter,  and  they  went  together— 
those  three  and  a  sober  cachet — to  the  Bois  de  Bou 
logne.  Terrapin  stated  to  Suzette  in  a  shockingly  in 
formal  way  that  Ralph  loved  her  and  would  give  her  a 
beautiful  chamber  and  relieve  her  from  the  drudgery  of 
the  glove-shop. 

They  were  passing  down  the  broad,  gravelled  drive, 
with  the  foliage  above  them  edged  with  moonlight,  the 
mock  cataract  singing  musically  below,  and  the  cocher, 
half  asleep,  nodding  and  slashing  his  horses.  And 
while  Terrapin  turned  his  head  and  made  himself  in 
visible  in  cigar-smoke,  Ralph  folded  Suzette  to  his 
breast,  and  kissed  her  once  so  demonstratively  that  the 
cocker  awoke  with  a  spring  and  nearly  fell  off  the  box, 
but  was  quite  too  much  of  a  cocher  to  turn  and  investi 
gate  the  matter. 

That  was  the  ceremony,  and  that  night  the  nuptials. 
Few  young  couples  make  a  better  commencement.  She 
gave  him  a  list  of  her  debts,  and  he  paid  them.  They 
removed  from  Ralph's  dim  quarters  to  a  cheap  and 
cheerful  chamber  upon  the  new  Boulevard.  It  was  on 
the  fifth  floor  ;  the  room  was  just  adapted  for  so  little  a 
couple.  Superficially  observed,  the  furniture  resolved 
itself  into  an  enormous  clock  and  a  mcnstiously  fine 
mirror  ;  but  after  a  while  you  might  remark  four  small 
chairs  and  a  great  one,  a  bureau  and  a  wardrobe,  a 
sofa  and  a  canopied  bed  ;  and  just  without  the  two 


HO  MARRIED  ABROAD. 

gorgeously  curtained  windows  lay  a  cunning  balcony, 
where  they  could  sit  of  evenings,  with  the  old  ruin  of 
the  Hotel  Cluny  beneath  them,  the  towers  of  Notre 
Dame  in  the  middle  ground,  and  at  the  horizon  the 
beautifully  wooded  hill  of  Pere  la  Chaise. 

Suzette  had  tristful  eyes  when  they  rested  upon  this 
cemetery.  Her  baby  lay  there,  without  a  stone — not 
without  a  flower. 

"  Pauvre  petite  Jules  /"  she  used  to  say,  nestling 
close  to  Ralph,  and  for  a  little  while  they  would  not 
speak  nor  move,  but  the  smoke  of  his  cigar  made  a 
charmed  circle  around  them,  and  the  stars  came  out 
above,  and  the  panorama  of  the  great  Boulevard  moved 
on  at  their  feet. 

Their  first  difficulties  were  financial,  of  course.  Su 
zette  would  have  liked  a  silken  robe,  a  new  bonnet,  a 
paletot,  gloves  and  concomitants  unlimited.  She  de 
lighted  to  walk  upon  the  Boulevard,  the  Rue  Rivoli,  and 
into  the  Palais  Royal,  looking  into  the  shop-windows 
and  selecting  what  she  would  buy  when  Ralph's  remit 
tances  came.  Her  hospitality  when  his  friends  visited 
him  did  less  honor  to  her  purse  than  to  her  heart.  She 
certainly  made  excellent  punches  ;  Terrapin  thought 
her  cigarettes  unrivalled  ;  she  was  fond  of  cutting  a 
fruit-pie,  and  was  quite  a  connoisseur  with  wines.  Ralph 
did  not  wonder  at  her  tidiness  when  the  laundry  bills 
were  presented,  but  doubted  that  the  coiffeur  beautified 
'ier  hair  ;  and  one  day,  when  a  cool  gentleman  in  civil 
uniform  knocked  at  the  door,  and  insisted  upon  the 
immediate  payment  of  a  bill  for  fifty  francs,  he  lost  his 
temper  and  said  bad  words.  What  could  be  done  ? 
Suzette  was  sobbing  ;  Ralph  detested  "  scenes  ;"  he 


MARRIED  ABROAD.  Ill 

threatened  to  leave  the  hotel  and  Paris,  and  frightened 
her  very  much — and  paid  the  money. 

"  You  said,  Suzette,  that  you  had  rendered  a  full 
account  of  all  your  indebtedness.  You  told  me  a  lie  !" 

"  Poor  boy,"  she  replied,  "  this  debt  was  so  old  that 
1  never  expected  to  hear  of  it." 

"  Have  you  any  more — old  or  otherwise  ?" 

Suzette  said  demurely  that  she  did  not  owe  a  sou  in 
the  world,  but  was  able  to  recall  thirty  francs  in  the 
course  of  the  afternoon,  and  assured  him,  truly,  that 
this  was  the  last. 

Still,  she  lacked  economy.  They  went  to  the  same 
cremery,  but  her  meals  cost  one  half  more  than  his. 
She  never  objected  to  a  lide  in  a  roiture ;  she  liked  to 
go  to  the  balls,  but  walked  very  soberly  upon  his  arm, 
recognizing  nobody,  and  exacting  the  same  behavior 
from  Ralph.  Let  him  look  at  an  unusually  pretty  girl, 
through  a  shop-window,  upon  his  peril  !  If  a  letter 
came  for  him  signed  Lizzie,  or  Annie,  or  Mary,  she 
took  the  dictionary  and  tried  to  interpret  it,  and  in  the 
end  called  him  a  vilain  and  wept. 

Toward  the  letters  signed  "  Lizzie"  she  conceived 
a  deep  antipathy.  With  a  woman's  instinct  she  dis 
cerned  that  "  Lizzie"  was  more  to  Ralph  than  any 
other  correspondent.  A  single  letter  satisfied  her  of 
this  ;  and  when  he  was  reading  it,  for  the  second  time, 
she  snatched  it  from  his  hand  and  flung  it  fiercely  upon 
the  floor.  Ralph's  eyes  blazed  menace  and  her  own 
cowered. 

'  Take  up  that  letter,  Suzette  !" 

"  I  won't  !" 

"  Take  it  up,  I  say  !    I  command  !  instantly  !"    He 


H2  MARRIED  ABROAD. 

had  risen  to  his  feet,  and  was  the  master  now.  She. 
stooped,  with  pale  jealousy  lying  whitely  in  her  tem 
ples,  and  gave  it  to  him  meekly,  and  sat  down  very 
stricken  and  desolate.  There  was  one  whom  he  loved 
better  than  her — she  felt  it  bitterly — a  love  more  re 
spectful,  more  profound — a  woman,  perhaps,  whom  he 
meant  to  make  his  wife  some  day,  when  SHE  should  be 
only  a  shameful  memory  ! 

It  may  have  been  the  reproach  of  this  infidelity,  or 
the  thought  of  his  home,  or  the  infatuation  of  his  pres 
ent  guileful  attachment,  which  kept  Ralph  Flare  from 
labor. 

There  was  the  great  Louvre,  filled  with  the  riches  of 
the  old  masters,  and  the  galleries  of  the  Luxembourg 
with  the  gems  of  the  French  school,  so  marvellous  in 
color  and  so  superb  in  composition,  and  the  mighty 
museum  of  Versailles,  with  its  miles  of  battle  pictures 
— yet  the  third  month  of  his  tenure  in  Paris  was  hasten 
ing  by,  and  he  had  not  made  one  copy. 

Suzette  was  a  bad  model.  She  posed  twice,  but 
changed  her  position,  and  yawned,  and  said  it  was 
ridiculous.  He  had  never  made  more  than  a  crayon 
portrait  of  her.  He  found,  too,  that  five  hundred 
francs  a  month  barely  sufficed  to  keep  them,  and 
once,  in  the  interval  of  a  remittance,  they  were  in  dan 
ger  of  hunger.  Yet  Suzette  plied  her  needle  bravely, 
and  was  never  so  proud  as  when  she  had  spread  the 
dinner  she  had  earned.  In  acknowledgment  of  this 
fidelity  Ralph  took  her  to  a  grand  inagasin,  where  they 
examined  the  goods  gravely,  as  married  folks  do,  con 
sulting  each  other,  and  trying  to  seem  very  sage  and 
anxious. 


MARRTED  ABROAD.  113 

There  probably  was  never  such  a  bonnet  as  Suzette's 
in  the  world.  It  was  black,  and  full  of  white  roses,  and 
floating  a  defiant  ostrich-plume,  and  tied  with  broad 
red  ribbons,  whereby  she  could  be  recognized  from  one 
end  of  the  Luxembourg  gardens  to  the  other. 

The  paletot  was  clever  in  like  manner  ;  she  made  the 
dress  herself,  and  its  fit  was  perfection,  showing  her 
plump  little  figure  all  the  plumper,  while  its  black  color 
set  off  the  whiteness  of  her  simple  collar,  and  with 
those  magic  gaiters,  Ralph's  gift  also,  he  used  to  sit  in 
the  big  chair,  peering  at  her,  and  in  a  quandary  as  to 
whether  he  had  ever  been  so  happy  before,  or  ever  so 
disquieted. 

"  Now,  my  little  woman,"  said  Ralph,  "  I  have  re 
deemed  my  promises  ;  you  have  a  chamber,  and  gar 
ments,  and  subsistence— more  than  any  of  your  friends 
— and  I  am  with  you  always  ;  few  wives  live  so  pleas 
antly  ;  but  there  is  one  thing  which  you  must  do." 

Suzette,  sitting  upon  his  knee,  protested  that  he  could 
not  command  any  impossible  thing  which  she  would 
not  undertake. 

"  You  must  work  a  little  ;  we  are  both  idle,  and  if 
we  continue  so,  may  have  ennui  and  may  quarrel. 
After  three  days  I  will  not  pay  for  your  breakfasts, 
and  every  day  in  which  you  do  not  breakfast  with  me, 
paying  for  yourself,  I  will  give  you  no  dinner.  Re 
member  it,  Suzette,  for  I  am  in  earnest." 

Her  color  fell  a  little  at  this,  for  she  had  no  love  for 
the  needle.  It  was  merrier  in  the  boutique  to  chat 
with  customers,  yet  she  started  fairly,  and  for  a  week 
earned  a  franc  a  day.  The  eighth  day  came  ;  she  had 
no  money.  Ralph  put  on  his  hat  and  went  down  the 


H4  MARRIED  ABROAD. 

Rue  L"  Ecole  de  Medecin  without  her  ;  but  his  breakfast 
was  unpalatable,  indigestible.  Five  o'clock  came 
round  ;  she  was  sitting  at  the  window,  perturbedly 
waiting  to  see  how  he  would  act. 

It  wrung  his  heart  to  think  that  she  was  hungry,  but 
he  tried  to  be  very  firm. 

"  I  am  going  to  dinner,  Suzette  !  I  keep  my  word, 
you  see." 

"  It  is  well,  Ralph." 

That  night  they  said  little  to  each  other.  The  dove 
cote  was  quite  cold,  for  the  autumn  days  were  running 
out,  and  they  lighted  a  hearth  fire.  Suzette  made  pre 
tence  of  reading.  She  had  an  impenitent  look  ;  for 
she  conceived  that  she  had  been  cruelly  treated,  and 
would  not  be  soothed  nor  kissed.  Ralph  smoked,  and 
said  over  some  old  rhymes,  and,  finally  rising,  put  on 
his  cloak. 

"  I  am  going  out,  Suzette  ;  you  don't  make  my 
room  cheerful." 

"  Bien!" 

He  walked  very  slowly  and  heavily  down  the  stairs, 
to  convince  her  that  he  was  really  going  or  hoping  to 
be  recalled,  but  she  did  not  speak.  He  saw  the  light 
burning  from  his  windows  as  he  looked  up  from  below. 
He  was  regretful  and  angry.  At  Terrapin's  room  he 
drank  much  raw  brandy  and  sang  a  song.  He  even 
called  the  astute  Terrapin  a  humbug,  and  toward  mid 
night  grew  quarrelsome.  They  escorted  him  to  his 
hotel  door  ;  the  light  was  still  burning  in  his  room. 
He  was  sober  and  repentant  when  he  had  ascended  the 
long  stairs,  though  he  counterfeited  profound  drunken 
ness  when  he  stood  before  her. 


MARRIED  ABROAD.  115 

She  had  been  weeping,  and  in  her  white  night- 
habit,  with  her  dark  hair  falling  loosely  upon  her 
shoulders,  she  was  very  lovely.  The  clock  struck  one 
as  they  looked  at  each  other.  She  fell  upon  his  neck 
and  removed  his  garments,  and  wrapped  him  away  be 
tween  the  coverlets  ;  and  he  watched  her  for  a  long 
time  in  the  flickering  light  till  a  deep  sleep  fell  upon 
him,  so  that  he  could  not  feel  how  closely  he  was 
clasped  in  her  arms. 

PART   III. 

CONSCIENCE. 

LEST  it  has  not  been  made  clear  in  these  paragraphs 
whether  Suzette  was  a  good  or  a  wicked  being,  we  may 
give  the  matured  and  recent  judgment  of  Ralph  Flare 
himself.  Put  to  the  test  of  religion,  or  even  of  re 
spectability,  this  intimacy  was  baneful.  A  wild  young 
man  had  broken  his  honor  for  the  companionship  of  a 
poor,  errant  girl.  She  was  poor,  but  she  hated  to 
work  ;  she  had  no  regard  for  his  money  ;  she  did  not 
share  his  ambition.  Making  against  her  a  case  thus 
clear  and  certain,  Ralph  Flare  entered  for  Suzette  the 
plea  of  not  wicked,  and  this  was  his  defence  ! 

She  was  educated  in  France.  Particular  sins  lose 
their  shame  in  some  countries.  Woman  in  France  had 
not  the  high  mission  and  respect  which  she  fulfilled  in 
his  o\vn  land.  Suzette  was  one  of  many  children. 
Her  father  was  the  cultivator  of  a  few  acres  in  Nor 
mandy.  Her  mother  died  as  the  infant  was  ushered 
into  the  world.  To  her  father  and  brothers  she  was  of 
an  unprofitable  sex,  and  her  sisters  disliked  her  because 


MARRIED  ABROAD. 


she  was  handsomer  than  they.  Her  childhood  was 
cheerless  enough,  for  she  had  quick  instincts,  and  her 
education  availed  only  to  teach  her  how  grand  was  the 
world,  and  how  confined  her  life.  She  left  her  home 
by  stealth,  in  the  night,  and  alone.  In  the  city  of 
Cherbourg  she  found  occupation.  She  dwelt  with 
strangers  ;  she  was  lonely  ;  her  poverty  and  her 
beauty  were  her  sorrows.  She  was  a  girl  only  till  her 
fifteenth  year. 

The  young  mother  has  but  one  city  of  refuge — 
Paris.  Without  friends  she  passed  the  bitterness  of 
reminiscence.  Through  the  poverty  cf  skill  or  suste 
nance  she  lost  her  boy,  and  the  great  city  lay  all  before 
her  where  to  choose.  Luckily,  in  France  every  avenue 
to  struggle  was  not  closed  to  her  sisterhood  ;  with  us 
such  gather  only  the  wages  of  sin.  It  was  not  there  an 
irreparable  disgrace  to  have  fallen.  For  a  full  year  she 
lived  purely,  industriously,  lonely  ;  what  adventures 
ensued  Ralph  knew  imperfectly.  She  met,  he  believed 
that  she  loved  him.  It  was  not  probable,  of  course, 
that  she  came  out  of  the  wrestle  unscathed.  She  de 
ceived  in  little  things,  but  he  knew  when  to  trust  her. 
She  was  quick-tempered  and  impatient  of  control,  but 
he  understood  her,  and  their  quarrels  were  harbingers 
of  their  most  happy  seasons.  She  was  generous,  affec 
tionate,  artless.  He  did  not  know  among  the  similar 
attachments  of  his  friends  any  creature  so  pliable,  so 
true,  so  beautiful. 

It  was  upon  her  acquaintances  that  Ralph  placed  the 
blame  when  she  erred.  Fanchette  was  one  of  these — • 
the  dame  of  a  student  from  Bretagne,  a  Avorldly,  plot 
ting,  masculine  woman — the  only  one  whom  he  per- 


MARRIED  ABROAD.  117 

mitted  to  visit  her.  It  was  Fanchette  who  loaned 
her  money  when  she  was  indolent,  and  who  prompted 
her  to  ask  favors  beyond  his  means. 

Toward  the  end  of  every  month  Ralph's  money  ran 
out,  and  then  he  was  petulant  and  often  upbraided  her. 
Those  were  the  only  times  when  he  essayed  to  study, 
and  he  would  not  walk  with  her  of  evenings,  so  desti 
tute.  Then  Fanchette  amused  her  :  "  Sew  in  my 
room,"  she  would  say  ;  "  Ralph  will  come  for  you  at 
eight  o'clock."  But  Ralph  never  went,  and  Fanchette 
poisoned  his  little  girl's  mind. 

"When  will  you  leave  Paris,  baby?"  said  Suzette 
one  evening,  as  she  returned  trom  her  friend's  and 
found  him  sitting  moodily  by  the  fire. 

"  Very  soon,"  he  replied  crisply  ;  "  that  is,  if  ever  I 
have  money  or  resolution  enough  to  start." 

"  Won't  you  take  me  with  you,  little  one  ?" 

"  No  '" 

"  You  don't  love  me  any  more  !" 

"  Pish  !" 

"  Kiss  me,  my  boy  !" 

"  Oh,  go  away,  you  bother  me — you  always  bother 
me  when  my  money  is  low.  Haven't  I  told  you  about 
it  before  ?" 

But  the  next  morning  as  Suzette  made  her  toilet, 
older  and  more  silently,  he  felt  repentant,  and  called 
her  to  him,  and  they  talked  a  long  while  cf  nothing 
nesses.  He  had  a  cruel  way  of  playing  with  her  feelings. 

"  Suzette,"  he  would  say.  "  would  you  like  me  to 
take  you  to  my  country  and  live  with  you  forever  ?" 
'  Very  much,  my  child  !" 

"  My  father  has  a  beautiful  farm,  which  he  means  to 


II 8  MARRIED  ABROAD. 

give  to  me.  There  is  a  grand  old  house  upon  it,  and 
from  the  high  porch  you  can  see  the  blue  bay  speckled 
with  sails.  The  orchards  are  filled  with  apples  and 
pears.  You  must  walk  an  hour  to  get  around  the  corn 
fields,  and  there  is  a  picnic  ground  in  the  beech-woods? 
where  we  might  entertain  our  friends.  I  have  many 
friends.  How  jolly  you  would  look  in  my  big  rocking- 
chair,  before  the  fireplace  blazing  with  logs,  and  with 
your  lap  full  of  chestnuts,  telling  me  of  Paris  life  !" 

She  was  drinking  it  all  in,  and  the  blood  was  ripe  in 
her  cheeks. 

"  Think,  little  one,"  he  said,  "  of  passing  our  days 
there,  you  and  I  !  I  have  made  you  my  wife,  for  ex 
ample  ;  I  paint  great  pictures  ;  you  are  proud  of  me  ; 
everybody  respects  you  ;  you  have  your  saddle-horse 
and  your  tea-parties  ;  you  learn  to  be  ashamed  of  what 
you  were  ;  you  are  anxious  to  be  better — not  in  peo 
ple's  eyes  only,  but  in  mine,  in  your  own.  To  do  good 
deeds  ;  to  sit  in  the  church  hearing  good  counsel  ;  to  be 
patted  upon  the  forehead  by  my  father — his  daughter  ! 
— and  to  call  my  brother  your  brother  also.  Thus 
honored,  contented,  good,  your  hairs  turn  gray  with 
mine.  We  walk  along  hand  in  hand  so  evenly  that  we 
do  not  perceive  how  old  we  are  growing.  We  may  for 
get  everything  but  our  love  ;  that  remains  when  we -are 
gone — a  part  of  our  children's  inheritance." 

He  spoke  excellent  French  now  ;  to  her  it  was  elo 
quence.  Her  arms  were  around  his  neck.  He  could 
feel  her  heart  beating.  He  had  expressed  what  she 
scarcely  dared  to  conceive — all  her  holiest,  profoundest 
hopes,  her  longing  for  what  she  had  never  been,  for 
what  she  believed  she  would  try  to  be  worthy  of. 


MARRIED  ABROAD.  119 


"Oh,  my  baby,"  she  cried,  half  in  tears,  "you 
make  me  think  !  I  have  never  thought  much  or  often  ; 
I  wish  I  was  a  scholar,  as  you  are,  to  tell  you  how, 
since  we  have  dwelt  together,  something  like  that  has 
come  to  me  in  a  dream.  Perhaps  it  is  because  you 
talk  to  me  so  that  I  love  you  so  greatly.  Nobody  ever 
spoke  to  me  so  before.  That  is  why  I  am  angry  when 
your  proud  friend  Lizzie  writes  to  you.  All  that  good 
fortune  is  for  her  ;  you  are  to  quit  Paris  and  me.  My 
name  will  be  unworthy  to  be  mentioned  to  her.  How 
shall  I  be  in  this  bad  city,  growing  old  ;  yet  I  would 
try  so  earnestly  to  improve  and  be  grateful  !" 

"  Would  you,  truly,  sweetheart  ?" 

She  only  sobbed  and  waited  ;  he  coughed  in  a  dry 
way  and  unclasped  her  hands. 

"I  pity  you,  poor  Suzette, "  he  said,  "but  it  is 
quite  impossible  for  us  to  be  more  to  each  other.  My 
people  would  never  speak  to  me  if  I  behaved  so 
absurdly.  Go  to  bed  now,  and  stop  crying  ;  good 
night." 

She  staggered  up,  so  crushed  and  bowed  and  hag 
gard  that  his  conscience  smote  him.  He  could  not 
have  done  a  greater  cruelty  to  one  like  her — teaching 
her  to  hope,  then  to  despair.  The  next  day,  and  the 
next,  she  worked  at  Fanchette's.  His  remittance  did 
not  come  ;  he  was  out  of  temper,  and  said  in  jest  that 
he  would  set  out  for  Italy  within  a  week.  There  -was 
a  pale  decision  in  her  countenance  the  fourth  morning. 
She  put  on  her  gray  robe  and  a  little  cap  which  she 
had  made.  He  did  not  offer  to  kiss  her,  and  she  did 
not  beseech  it.  He  saw  her  no  more  until  nine 
o'clock,  when  she  came  in  with  Fanchette,  and  her 


MARRIED  ABROAD. 


cheeks  were  flushed  as  with  wine.  This  made  him 
more  angry.  He  said  nothing  to  either  of  them  and 
went  to  sleep  silently. 

i  The  fifth  day  she  returned  as  before.  He  was  sitting 
up  by  the  fireplace  ;  his  rent  was  due  ;  he  was  quite 
cast  down,  and  said  : 

"  Dear,  when  my  purse  was  full  you  never  went 
away  two  whole  days,  leaving  me  alone." 

"  You  are  to  leave  me,  Ralph,  forever  !"  But  she 
was  touched,  and  in  the  morning  said  that  she  would 
come  back  at  midday.  Still  no  remittance.  He  felt 
like  a  bear.  Twelve  o'clock  came — Suzette  did  not 
appear.  It  drifted  on  to  one  ;  he  listened  vainly  for 
her  feet  upon  the  stairs.  At  two  he  sat  at  the  window 
watching  ;  she  entered  at  three,  half  mild,  half  timor 
ous,  and  gave  him  a  paper  of  sugar  plums. 

"  Where  did  those  come  from  ?"  he  asked,  with  a 
scowl. 

"  Fanchette  gave  them  to  me." 

"  I  don't  believe  it  ;  there  is  kirsch  tt'asser  on  your 
lips  ;  you  have  been  drinking." 

She  drew  her  handkerchief  from  her  pocket ;  a  little 
box,  gilt-edged,  came  out  with  it,  and  rolled  into  the 
middle  of  the  floor.  Suzette  leaped  for  it  with  a  quick 
pallor  ;  he  wrenched  it  from  her  hands  after  a  fierce 
struggle,  and  delving  into  the  soft  cotton  with  which  it 
was  packed,  brought  out  sleeve-buttons  of  gold  and  a 
pearl  breastpin.  They  were  new  and  glittering,  and 
they  flashed  a  burning  suspicion  into  his  heart.  He 
forced  her  unresisting  into  a  chair,  and  flung  them 
far  out  of  the  window,  over  the  house-roofs.  Then  he 
sat  down  a  moment  to  gain  breath,  and  marked  her 


MARRIED  ABROAD.  121 


with  eyes  in  which  she  saw  that  she  was  already  tried 
and  sentenced. 

"  Who  gave  you  those  things,  Suzette  ?"  he  asked 
in  a  forced,  strange  monotone. 

"  My  ancient  patronne. " 

"  What's  her  name  ?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Where  does  she  live  ?" 

"  I  shan't  tell  you." 

He  held  her  wrist  tightly  and  pressed  her  back  till 
her  eyes  were  compelled  to  mark  his  white,  pinched 
lips  and  altogether  bloodless  temples.  His  hand 
tightened  upon  her  ;  his  full,  boyish  figure  straightened 
and  heightened  beyond  nature  ;  his  regard  was  terri 
ble.  A  terrible  fear  and  silence  fell  around  about 
them. 

"  These  are  the  gifts  of  a  man,"  he  whispered  ; 
"  you  do  not  know  it  better  than  I.  I  shall  walk  out 
for  one  hour  ;  at  the  end  of  that  time  there  must  not  be 
even  a  ribbon  of  yours  in  this  chamber." 

PART    IV. 

REMORSE. 

HE  gave  the  same  order  to  the  proprietor  as  he 
passed  down-stairs,  and  hurried  at  a  crazy  pace  across 
the  Pont  des  Arts  to  the  rooms  of  Terrapin.  That 
philosopher  was  playing  whist  with  his  friends,  and 
gave  as  his  opinion  that  Ralph  was  "  spooney." 

Ralph  drank  much,  talked  much,  chafed  more. 
Somebody  advised  him  to  travel,  but  he  felt  that  Eu 
rope  had  nothing  to  show  him  like  that  which  he 


122  MARRIED  ABROAD. 

had  lost.     He  told  Madame  George  Ihe  story  at  the 
crcmery. 

"  Ah,  monsieur,"  she  said,  "  that  is  the    way  with 
ill  love  in  Paris." 

He  played  "  ramps"  with  the  French,  but  the  game 
repressed  him  as  stupid,  and  he  tried  to  quarrel  with 
Boetia,  who  was  too  polite  to  be  vexed.  He  drank 
pure  cognac,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  Gauls,  but  it 
had  no  visible  effect  upon  him,  and  Pere  George  held 
up  his  hands  as  he  went  away,  saying  :  "  Behold  these 
Americans  !  they  do  everything  with  a  fever  ;  brandy 
affects  them  no  more  than  water." 

The  room  in  the  fifth  story  was  very  cold  now.  He 
tried  to  read  in  bed,  but  the  novel  had  no  meaning  in 
it.  He  walked  up  and  down  the  balcony  in  the  No 
vember  night,  where  he  had  often  explained  the  mo 
tions  of  the  stars  to  her.  They  seemed  to  miss  her 
now,  and  peeped  inquisitively.  He  looked  into  the 
bureau  and  wardrobe,  half  ashamed  of  the  hope  that 
she  had  left  some  souvenir.  There  was  not  even  a  let 
ter.  She  had  torn  a  leaf,  on  which  she  had  written  her 
name,  out  of  his  diary.  The  sketches  he  had  made  of 
her  were  gone  ;  if  she  had  only  taken  her  remembrance 
out  of  his  heart,  it  would  have  been  well.  Then  he 
reasoned  with  himself,  sensibly  and  consistently.  It 
was  a  bad  passion  at  first.  How  would  it  have  shamed 
.is  father  and  mother  had  they  heard  of  it  !  Its  con- 
inuance  was  even  more  pernicious,  making  him  profli- 
ite  and  idle  ;  introducing  him  to  light  pleasures  and 
companies  ;  enfeebling  him,  morally  and  physically  ; 
diverting  him  from  the  beautiful  arts  ;  weakening  his 
parental  love  ;  divorcing  him  from  grand  themes  and 


MARRIED   ABROAD.  123 


thoughts.  He  could  never  marry  this  woman.  Their 
heart-strings  must  have  been  wrung  by  some  final  part 
ing  ;  and  now  that  she  had  been  proved  untrue,  was  it 
not  most  unmanly  that  he  should  permit  her  to  stand 
even  in  the  threshold  of  his  mind  ?  It  was  a  good  rid 
dance,  he  said,  pacing  the  floor  in  the  firelight  ;  but 
just  then  he  glanced  into  the  great  mirror,  and  stood 
fixed  to  mark  the  pallor  of  his  face.  Say  what  he 
might,  laugh  as  he  did,  with  a  hollow  sound,  that 
absent  girl  had  stirred  the  very  fountains  of  his  feelings. 
Not  learned,  not  beautiful,  not  anything  to  anybody 
but  him — there  was  yet  the  difference  between  her  love 
and  her  deceit,  which  made  him  content  or  wretched. 

He  felt  this  so  keenly  that  he  lifted  his  voice  and 
cursed — himself,  her,  society,  mankind.  Then  he  cried 
like  a  child,  and  called  himself  a  calf,  and  laughed 
bitterly,  and  cried  again. 

There  was  no  sleep  for  him  that  night.  He  drank 
brandy  again  in  the  morning,  and  walked  to  the 
banker's.  His  remittance  awaited  him,  and  he  came 
out  of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix  with  thirty  gold  napoleons 
in  his  pocket. 

He  met  all  the  Americans  at  breakfast  at  Trappe's 
in  the  Palais  Royal,  and  strolling  to  the  morgue  with 
a  part  of  them,  kept  on  to  Vincennes,  and  spent  a 
wretched  day  in  the  forest.  At  the  Place  de  la  Bastille, 
returning,  he  got  into  a  cabriolet  alone  and  searched 
ineffectually  along  the  Rue  Rivoli  for  a  companion 
who  would  ride  with  him.  "  Go  through  the  Rue  de 
Beaux  Arts  !"  he  said,  as  they  crossed  Pont  Neuf. 
This  is  a  quiet  street  in  the  Latin  Quarter  filled  with 
cheap  pensions,  in  one  of  which  dwelt  Fanchette.  His 


124  MARRIED  ABROAD. 


heart  was  wedged  in  his  throat  as  he  saw  at  the  win 
dow  little  Suzette  sewing.  She  wore  one  of  the  dresses 
he  had  given  her.  Her  face  was  old  and  piteous  ;  she 
was  red-eyed  and  worked  wearily,  looking  into  the 
street  like  one  on  a  rainy  day. 

When  she  saw  him,  he  thought,  by  her  start  and 
flush,  that  she  was  going  to  fall  from  the  chair  ;  but 
then  she  looked  with  a  dim,  absent  manner  into  his 
face,  like  one  who  essays  to  remember  something  that 
was  very  dear  but  is  now  quite  strange.  He  was 
pleased  to  think  that  she  was  miserable,  and  would  have 
given  much  to  have  found  her  begging  bread,  as  she 
did  that  night  of  him. 

He  had  ridden  by  on  purpose  to  show  that  he  had 
money,  and  she  sent  him  by  Terrapin's  word  a  peti 
tion  for  a  few  francs  to  buy  her  a  chamber.  Fanchette's 
friend  had  come  home  from  the  country,  and  it  would 
not  do  for  her  to  occupy  their  single  bedroom  ;  but 
Ralph  made  reply  by  deputy,  to  the  effect  that  the 
donor  of  the  jewelry  would,  he  supposed,  give  her  a 
room.  It  was  a  weary  week  ensuing  ;  he  drank  spirits 
all  the  time,  and  made  love  to  an  English  governess  in 
the  Tuileries  garden,  and  when  Sunday  came,  with  a 
rainy,  windy,  dismal  evening,  he  went  with  Terrapin 
and  Co.  to  the  Closerie  des  Lilas. 

This  is  the  great  ball  of  the  Latin  Quarter.  It 
stands  near  the  barriers  upon  the  Boulevard,  and  is 
haunted  with  students  and  grisettes.  Commonly  it 
was  thronged  with  waltzers,  and  the  scene  on  gala 
nights,  when  all  the  lamps  were  aflame,  and  the  music 
drowned  out  by  the  thunder  of  the  dance,  was  a  com 
promise  between  Paradise  and  Pandemonium.  To- 


MARK  [ED   ABROAD.  125 

night  there  was  a  beggarly  array  of  folk  ;  the  multi 
tude  of  garfons  contemplated  each  other's  white  aprons, 
and  old  Bullier,  the  proprietor,  staggering  under  his 
huge  hat,  exhibited  a  desire  to  be  taken  out  and  in 
terred.  The  wild-eyed  young  man  with  flying,  carroty 
locks;  who  stood  in  the  set  directly  under  the  orchestra, 
at  that  part  of  the  floor  called  "  the  kitchen,"  was 
flinging  up  his  legs  without  any  perceptible  enjoyment, 
and  the  policemen  in  helmets,  and  cuirassiers,  who  had 
hard  work  to  keep  order  in  general,  looked  like  lay  fig 
ures  now,  and  strolled  off  into  the  embowered  and 
sloppy  gardens.  There  were  not  two  hundred  folk 
under  the  roofs.  Ralph  had  come  here  with  the  unac 
knowledged  thought  of  meeting  Suzette,  and  he  walked 
around  with  his  cigar,  leaning  upon  Terrapin's  arm 
and  making  himself  disagreeable. 

Suddenly  he  came  before  her.  She  seemed  to  have 
arisen  from  the  earth.  She  looked  so  weak  and  hag 
gard  that  he  was  impelled  to  speak  to  her  ;  but  he  was 
obdurate  and  hard-hearted.  He  could  have  filled  her 
cup  of  bitterness  and  watched  her  drink  it  to  the  dregs, 
and  would  have  been  relentless  if  she  was  kneeling  at 
his  feet. 

"  Flare,  what  makes  you  tremble  so?"  said  Terra 
pin  ;  "  are  you  cold  ?  Confound  it,  man,  you  are  sick  ! 
Sit  here  in  the  draft  and  take  some  cognac." 

"  No,"  answered  Ralph,  "  I  am  all  right  again. 
You  see  my  girl  there  ?  (Don't  look  at  her  !)  You 
know  some  of  these  girls,  old  fellow  ?  I  mean  to  treat 
two  of  them  to  a  bottle  of  champagne.  She  will  see  it. 
I  mean  for  her  to  do  so.  Who  are  these  passing  ? 
Come  with  me. " 


126  MARRIED   ABROAD. 

He  walked  by  Suzette  and  her  friend  as  if  they  had 
been  invisible,  and  addressed  those  whom  he  pursued 
with  such  energy  that  they  shrank  back.  He  made 
one  of  them  take  his  arm,  and  hurried  here  and  there, 
saying  honeyed  words  all  the  time,  by  which  she  was 
affrighted  ;  but  every  smile,  false  as  it  was,  fell  into 
Suzette's  heart. 

Weary,  wan,  wretched,  she  kept  them  ever  in  view, 
crossing  his  path  now  and  then,  in  the  vain  thought 
that  she  might  have  one  word  from  him,  though  it  were 
a  curse.  He  took  his  new  friends  into  an  alcove. 
She  saw  the  wine  burst  from  the  bottle,  and  heard  the 
clink  of  the  glasses  as  they  drank  good  health.  She 
did  not  know  that  all  his  laughter  was  feigned,  that 
his  happiness  was  delirium,  that  his  vows  were  lies. 
She  did  not  believe  Ralph  Flare  so  base  as  to  put 
his'  foot  upon  her,  whom  he  had  already  stiicken 
down. 

And  he — -he  was  all  self,  all  stone  ! — he  laid  no 
offence  at  his  own  door.  He  did  not  ask  if  her  infi 
delity  was  real  or  if  it  had  no  warrant  in  his  own  slight 
and  goading.  The  poor,  pale  face  went  after  him  re 
proachfully.  Every  painful  footfall  that  she  made 
was  the  patter  of  a  blood-drop.  Such  unnatural  ex 
citement  must  have  some  termination.  He  quarrelled 
with  a  waiter.  Old  Bullier  ordered  a  cuirassier  to 
take  him  to  the  door  ;  he  would  have  resisted,  but  Ter 
rapin  whispered  :  "  Don't  be  foolish,  Flare  ;  if  you  are 
put  out  it  will  be  a  triumph  for  the  girl  ;"  and  only 
this  conviction  kept  him  calm.  The  cyprians  whom 
he  wooed  followed  him  out ;  he  turned  upon  them  bit 
terly  when  he  had  crossed  the  threshold,  and  leaping 


MARRIED  ABROAD.  127 

into  a  carriage  was  driven  to  his  hotel,  where  he  slept 
unquietly  till  daybreak. 

See  him,  at  dawn,  in  deep  slumber  !  his  face  is  sal 
low,  his  lips  are  dry,  his  chest  heaves  nervously  as  he 
breathes  hard.  It  is  a  bad  sleep  ;  it  is  the  sleep  of 
bad  children,  to  whom  the  fiend  comes,  knowing  that 
the  older  they  grow  the  more  surely  are  they  his  own. 

This  is  not,  surely,  the  bashful  young  man  who 
started  at  the  phantom  of  his  mother,  and  sinned  re 
luctantly.  Aye  !  but  those  who  do  Avrong  after  much 
admonishment  are  wickeder  than  those  who  obey  the 
first  bad  impulse.  He  is  ten  times  more  cast  away 
who  thinks  and  sins  than  he  who  only  sins  and  does 
not  think. 

Ralph  Flare  was  one  of  your  reasoning  villains.  His 
conscience  was  not  a  better  nature  rising  up  in  the 
man,  and  saying  "this  is  wrong."  It  was  not  con 
science  at  all  ;  it  was  only  a  fear.  Far  down  as  Su- 
zette  might  be,  she  never  could  have  been  unfeeling, 
unmerciful  as  he.  It  is  a  bad  character  to  set  in  black 
and  white,  yet  you  might  ask  old  Terrapin  or  any 
shrewd  observer  what  manner  of  man  was  Ralph,  and 
they  would  say,  "  So-so-ish,  a  little  sentimental, 
spooney  likewise  ;  but  a  good  fellow,  a  good  fellow  !" 
And  more  curious  than  all,  Suzette  said  so  too. 

He  rose  at  daylight,  and  dressed  and  looked  at  himself 
in  the  glass.  He  felt  that  this  would  not  do.  His  re 
venge  had  turned  upon  himself.  He  had  half  a  mind 
to  send  for  Suzette,  and  forgive  her,  and  plead  with 
her  to  come  back  again.  The  door  opened  :  she  of 
whom  he  thought  stood  before  him,  more  marked  and 
meagre  than  he  ;  and  the  old  tyranny  mounted  to  his 


128  AfARRIED  ABROAD. 

eyes  as  he  looked  upon  her.  He  knew  that  she  had 
come  to  be  pardoned,  to  explain,  and  he  determined 
that  she  should  suffer  to  the  quick. 

PART    V. 

TYRANNY. 

IF  this  history  of  Ralph  Flare  that  we  are  writing 
was  not  a  fiction,  we  might  make  Suzette  give  way  at 
once  under  the  burden  of  her  grief,  and  rest  upon  a 
chair,  and  weep.  On  the  contrary,  she  did  just  the 
opposite.  She  laughed. 

Human  nature  is  consistent  only  in  its  inconsisten 
cies.  She  meant  to  break  down  in  the  end,  but  wished 
to  intimidate  him  by  a  show  of  carelessness,  so  she  first 
said  quietly  :  "  Monsieur  Ralph,  I  have  come  to  see  to 
my  washing  ;  it  went  out  with  yours  ;  will  you  tell  the 
proprietor  to  send  it  to  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  madame." 

"  May  I  sit  down,  sir  ?  It  is  a  good  way  up-stairs, 
and  I  want  to  breathe  a  minute." 

"  As  you  like,  madame." 

He  was  resting  on  the  sofa  ;  she  took  a  chair  just 
opposite.  There  was  a  table  between  them,  and  for  a 
little  while  she  looked  with  a  ghastly  playfulness  into 
his  eyes,  he  regarding  her  coldly  and  darkly  ;  and  then 
she  laughed.  It  was  a  terrible  laugh  to  come  from  a 
child's  lips.  It  was  a  woman's  pride,  drowning  at  the 
bottom  of  her  heart,  and  in  its  last  struggle  for  preser 
vation  sending  up  these  bubbles  of  sound. 

We  talk  of  tragic  scenes  in  common  life  ;  this  was 
one  of  them.  The  little  room  with  its  waxed,  inlaid 


MARRIED  ABROAD.  129 

floor,  the  light  falling  bloodily  in  at  the  crimson  cur 
tains  and  throwing  unreal  shadows  upon  the  spent  fire, 
the  disordered  furniture,  the  unmade  bed  ;  and  there 
were  the  two  actors,  suffering  in  their  little  sphere  what 
only  seems  more  suffering  in  prisons  and  upon  scaffolds, 
and  playing  with  each  other's  agonies  as  not  more  re 
fined  cruelty  plays  with  racks  and  tortures. 

"  You  are  pleased,  madame, "  said  Ralph. 

"  No,  I  am  wondering  what  has  changed  you.  There 
are  black  circles  around  your  eyes  ;  you  have  not 
shaved  ;  the  bones  of  your  cheeks  are  shnrp  like  your 
chin,  and  you  are  yellow  and  bent  like  a  dry  leaf." 

"  I  have  had  an  excess  of  money  lately.  Being  free 
to  do  as  I  like,  1  have  done  so." 

She  looked  furtively  around  the  room.  "  Somebody 
has  gone  away  from  here  this  morning — is  it  true  ?" 

He  laughed  suggestively. 

"  I  saw  you  with  two  girls  last  night  ;  the  company 
did  you  honor  ;  it  was  one  of  them,  perhaps." 

"  You  guess  shrewdly,"  he  replied. 

"  This  is  her  room  now  ;  it  may  be  she  will  object 
to  see  me  here." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Ralph  Flare,  with  mock  cour 
tesy,  rising  up.  "  When  you  lived  with  me  I  permitted 
no  one  to  visit  me  in  your  absence.  My  late  friends 
will  be  vexed.  You  have  finished  the  business  which 
brought  you  here,  and  I  must  go  to  breakfast  now." 

Ralph  was  a  good  actor.  Had  he  thought  Suzette 
really  meant  to  go,  he  would  have  fallen  on  his  knees. 

"  Stop,  Ralph,  my  boy,"  she  cried.  "  1  know  that 
you  do  not  love  me  ;  I  can't  see  why  I  ever  believed 
that  you  did.  But  let  me  sit  with  you  a  little  while. 


13°  MARRIED   ABROAD. 

You  drove  me  from  you  once.  I  know  that  you  have 
found  one  to  fill  my  place  ;  but,  enfant,  I  love  you.  I 
want  to  take  your  head  in  my  arms  as  I  have  done  a 
hundred  times,  and  hear  you  say  one  kind  word  before 
we  part  forever." 

'There  was  a  time, "  he  said  slowly,  "  when  you 
did  not  need  my  embraces.  I  was  eager  to  give  them. 
I  did  not  give  you  kindness  only  ;  I  gave  you  nourish 
ment,  shelter,  clothing,  money.  You  were  unworthy 
and  ungrateful.  You  are  nothing  tome  now.  Do  not 
think  to  wheedle  me  back  to  be  your  fool  again." 

"  Oh  !  for  charity,  my  child,  not  for  love — I  am  too 
wretched  to  hope  that — for  pity,  let  me  sit  by  your  side 
five  minutes.  I  cannot  put  it  into  words  why  I  beg  it, 
but  it  is  a  little  thing  to  grant.  If  one  starved  you,  or 
had  stolen  from  you,  and  asked  it  so  earnestly,  you 
would  consent.  I  only  want  you  to  think  less  bitterly 
of  me.  You  must  needs  have  some  hard  thoughts.  I 
have  done  wrong,  my  boy,  but  you  do  not  know  all  the 
cause,  and  as  what  I  mean  to  say  cannot  make  place 
in  your  breast  for  me  now,  you  will  know  that  it  is 
true,  because  it  has  no  design.  Oh!  Man  Dieu ! 
Man  Dieu  !  It  is  so  hard  to  have  but  one  deep  love, 
and  yet  find  that  love  the  greatest  sorrow  of  one's  life. 
It  is  so  hard  to  have  loved  my  boy  so  well,  and  to 
know  that  to  the  end  of  his  days  he  hated  me." 

She  said  this  with  all  the  impetuosity  of  her  race  ; 
with  utter  abandonment  of  plan  or  effort,  yet  with  a 
wild  power  of  love  and  gesture  which  we  know  only 
upon  the  stage,  but  which  in  France  is  life,  feeling, 
reality. 

She  sat  down   and  sobbed,  raising  her  voice  till  it 


MARRIED  ABROAD.  131 


rolled  with  a  shrill  music  which  made  him  quiver, 
through  the  parted  curtain  and  into  the  turbulent  street. 
There  weie  troops  passing  beneath  the  balcony,  and  the 
clangor  of  drums  and  bugles  climbed  between  the  stone 
walls,  as  if  to  pour  all  its  mockery  into  the  little  room. 

Ralph  Flare  hated  to  see  a  woman  cry  ;  it  pained 
him  more  than  her  ;  so  he  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and 
carried  her  to  the  sofa  and  placed  her  head  upon  his 
breast.  Fora  long  while  she  sat  in  that  strange  luxury 
of  grief,  and  she  was  fearful  that  he  would  send  her 
away  before  her  agitation  could  pass,  and  she  might 
speak.  His  face  wore  an  incredulous  sneer  as  she 
spoke,  though  he  knew  it  was  absolute  truth.  She 
told  him  how  wretched  she  had  been,  so  wretched  that 
even  temptation  respected  her  ;  how  she  had  never 
known  the  intensity  of  her  passion  for  him  till  they 
were  asunder  ;  how  all  previous  attachments  were  as 
ice  to  fire  compared  to  this  ;  and  how  the  conscious 
ness  of  its  termination  should  make  her  desolate  for 
ever. 

"  I  looked  upon  you,"  she  said,  "  as  one  whom  I  had 
trained  up.  Since  I  have  lost  my  little  Jules  I  have 
needed  something  to  care  for.  I  taught  you  to  speak 
my  language  as  if  you  were  a  baby.  You  learned  the 
coinage  of  the  land,  and  how  to  walk  through  the  city, 
and  all  customs  and  places,  precisely  as  a  child  learns 
them  fiom  his  mother.  Alas  !  you  were  wiser  than  I, 
and  it  made  me  sad  to  feel  it.  It  was  like  the  mother's 
regret  that  her  boy  is  getting  above  her,  in  mind,  in 
stature,  so  that  he  shall  be  able  to  do  without  her. 
Yet  with  that  fear  there  is  a  pride  like  mine,  when  I 
felt  that  you  were  clever.  Ah  !  Ralph,  you  loved  to 


132  MARRIED   ABROAD. 


make  me  feel  how  weak  and  mean  I  was.  You  played 
with  my  poor  heart,  sick  enough  beforeH  and  little  by 
little  I  felt  your  love  gliding  away  from  me,  till  at  last 
you  told  me  that  it  was  gone.  You  said  you  should 
leave  France,  never  to  return — God  forgive  you  if  it 
was  not  true  ! — and  when  you  treated  me  worst,  I  was 
tempted  to  hear  kind  words  from  another.  Fanchette's 
friend  has  a  rich  cousin  who  admires  me.  He  is  to 
live -in  Paris  many  years.  I  never  loved  him,  but  I  am 
poor,  and  many  women  marry  only  for  a  home.  He 
offered  that  and  more  to  me.  I  would  not  hear  it. 
Oh  !  if  you  had  only  said  one  tender  word  to  me  in 
those  days  of  temptation.  I  begged  you  for  it.  When 
I  was  humblest  at  your  feet  you  put  your  heel  upon 
me  most. 

"  One  night  when  I  had  the  greatest  trouble  of  all 
he  sat  beside  me  and  plied  his  suit,  and  was  pleasanter, 
my  boy,  than  you  have  ever  been  ;  and  then,  rising, 
he  placed  that  box  of  jewelry  in  my  lap  and  ran 
away.  I  left  it  upon  Fanchette's  mantel  that  night. 
She  filled  my  head  with  false  thoughts  next  day.  I 
never  meant  while  you  were  in  Paris  to  do  you  any 
wrong  ;  but  I  put  those  jewel?  in  my  pocket,  meaning 
to  give  them  up  again  ;  you  found  them,  and  I  was 
made  wretched." 

Ralph  made  that  dry,  biting  cough  which  he  used 
to  express  unbelief.  She  only  bent  her  head  and  wept 
silently. 

"  When  all  was  gone,  poor  me  !  I  have  found  much 
sorrow  in  my  little  life,  but  we  are  light-hearted  in 
France,  and  we  live  and  laugh  again.  Perhaps  you 
have  made  me  more  like  one  of  your  countrywomen. 


MARRIED  ABROAD.  133 


I  do  not  know — only  that  I  can  never  be  happy  any 
more. 

"  Since  we  have  dwelt  apart  my  tempter  has  been  to 
see  me  eveiy  day.  He  has  grand  chambers  which  he 
will  give  me,  and  rich  wardrobes,  and  a  watch,  and  a 
voiture.  It  is  a  dazzling  picture  for  one  who  toils, 
going  all  her  days  on  foot,  and  lovely  only  to  be  de 
ceived.  But  I  hate  that  man  now,  because  he  has 
come  between  you  and  me,  and  1  have  slept  upon  my 
tears  alone." 

She  melted  again  into  a  long,  loud  wail,  and  he  pro 
posed  nervously  that  they  should  walk  into  the  gardens 
near  by.  He  said  little,  and  that  contemptuously, 
tossing  his  cane  at  the  birds,  much  interested  in  a 
statue,  delighted  with  the  visitors  beneath  the  maroon 
trees  ;  and  she  followed  him  here  and  there,  very  weak, 
for  she  had  eaten  no  breakfast,  and  not  so  deceived 
but  she  knew  that  he  labored  to  wound  her.  He  asked 
her  into  a  cafe,  cavalierly,  and  was  very  careful  to 
make  display  of  his  napoleons  as  he  paid.  He  did  not 
invite  her,  but  she  followed  him  to  his  hotel  again, 
and  here,  as  i£  with  terrible  ennui,  he  threw  himself 
upon  his  bed  and  feigned  to  sleep,  while  she  crouched 
at  his  table  and  wrote  him  a  conlrite  letter.  It  was 
sweetly  and  simply  worded,  and  asked  that  he  should 
let  her  return  to  him  for  his  few  remaining  days  in 
Paris.  If  he  could  not  grant  so  much,  might  she  speak 
to  him  in  the  street  ;  come  to  see  him  sometimes,  if 
only  to  be  reviled  ;  love  him,  though  she  could  not 
hope  to  be  loved  ?  She  gave  him  this  note  with  her 
face  turned  away,  and  faltered  the  request  that  he 
would  think  ere  he  replied,  and  hurried  to  the  balcony 


134  MARRIED  ABROAD. 

without,  that  she  might  not  trouble  him  with  the  pres 
ence  of  her  sorrow. 

How  the  street  beneath  her,  into  which  she  looked, 
had  changed  since  the  nights  when  they  talked  together 
upon  this  balcony  !  There  was  bright  sunshine,  but  it 
fell  leeringly,  not  laughingly,  upon  the  columns  of  the 
Odean  Theatre,  upon  the  crowds  on  the  Boulevard, 
upon  the  decrepit  baths  of  Julian,  upon  the  far  heights 
of  Belleville,  upon  her  more  cheerlessly  than  upon  all. 

She  listened  timorously  for  his  word  of  recall.  She 
wondered  if  he  were  not  writing  a  reply.  Yes,  that 
was  his  manner  ;  he  was  cold  and  sharp  of  speech,  but 
he  was  an  artist  with  his  pen.  She  thought  that  her 
long  patience  had  moved  him.  Perhaps  she  should  be 
all  forgiven.  Aye  !  they  should  dwell  together  a  few 
days  longer.  It  was  a  dismal  thought  that  it  must  be 
for  a  few  days,  yet  that  would  be  some  respite,  and 
then  they  could  part  friends  ;  though  her  heart  so 
clung  to  his  that  a  parting  should  rend  it  from  her,  she 
wanted  to  live  over  their  brief  happiness  again. 

"  Oh  !"  said  Suzette,  in  the  end,  laying  her  cheek 
upon  the  cold  iron  of  the  balcony,  "  I  wish  I  had  died 
at  my  father's  home  of  pining  for  something  to  love 
rather  than  to  have  loved  thus  truly,  and  have  it  ac 
counted  my  shame.  If  I  were  married  to  this  man  I 
could  not  be  his  fonder  wife  ;  but  because  I  am  not  he 
despises  me.  All  day  I  have  crawled  in  the  dust  ;  I 
have  made  myself  cheap  in  his  eyes.  If  I  were  prouder 
he  might  not  love  me  more,  but  his  respect  would  be 
something." 

She  rallied  and  took  heart.  Pride  is  the  immortal 
part  of  woman.  With  a  brighter  eye  she  entered  the 


MARRIED  ABROAD.  135 

room.  Her  letter,  blotted  with  tears,  lay  crumpled  and 
torn  upon  the  floor  at  his  bedside,  and  he,  with  his 
face  to  the  wall,  was  snoring  sonorously. 

"Ralph  Flare,"  cried  Suzette,  "arise!  that  letter 
is  the  last  olive  branch  you  shall  ever  see  in  my  hand  ; 
adieu  /" 

He  opened  his  eyes  yawningly.  Suzette,  with  trem 
bling  lips  and  nostrils,  clasped  the  door-knob.  It  shut 
behind  her  with  a  shock.  Her  feet  were  quick  upon 
the  stairs  ;  he  pursued  her  like  one  suddenly  gone  mad, 
and  called  her  back  with  something  between  a  moan 
and  a  howl. 

"Do  not  go  away,  Suzette,"  he  cried;  "I  only 
jested.  I  meant  this  morning  to  search  you  out  and 
beg  you  to  come  back.  I  would  not  lose  you  for 
France — for  the  world.  Be  not  rash  or  retaliatory  ! 
become  not  the  companion  of  this  Frenchman  who  has 
divided  us.  We  will  commence  again.  I  have  tested 
your  fidelity.  You  shall  have  all  the  liberty  that  you 
need,  everything  that  I  have  ;  say  to  me,  sweetheart, 
that  you  will  stay  !" 

For  a  moment  her  bright  eyes  were  scintillant  with 
wrath  and  indignation.  He  who  had  racked  her  all 
day  for  his  pleasure  was  bound  and  prostrate  now. 
Should  she  not  do  as  much  for  her  revenge  ? 

"  I  have  no  other  friend  now,"  he  pleaded  ;  "  my 
nights  have  been  sleepless,  solitary.  In  the  days  I  have 
drunk  deeply,  squandered  my  money,  tried  all  dissi 
pations,  and  proved  them  disappointments.  If  you 
leave  me  I  swear  that  I  will  plague  myself  and  you." 

"  Oh  !  Ralph,"  said  Suzette,  "  I  do  not  wonder  at 
the  artfulness  of  women  after  this  day's  lesson.  Some- 


I36  MARRIED  ABROAD. 

thing  impels  me  to  return  your  cruelty  ;  it  is  a  bad  im 
pulse,  and  I  shall  disobey  it.  I  thank  God,  my  baby, 
that  I  cannot  do  as  you  have  done  to  me." 

She  wept  again  for  the  last  time,  but  he  kissed  her 
tears  away,  and  wondered  where  the  great  shame  lay, 
upon  that  child  or  upon  him  ? 

PART    VI. 

DESERTION. 

WHEN  the  last  fresh  passion  was  over,  Suzette, 
whose  face  had  grown  purer  and  sadder,  roused  Ralph 
Flare  to  his  more  legitimate  ambition.  "  My  child," 
she  said,  "  if  you  will  work  in  the  gallery  every  day  I 
will  sew  in  one  of  the  great  magasans." 

To  see  that  he  commenced  fairly,  she  went  with  him 
into  the  Louvre,  and  he  selected  a  fine  Rembrandt — 
an  old  man,  bearded  and  scarred,  massively  character 
ized,  and  clothed  in  magic  light  and  shadow. 

As  Ralph  stood  at  his  easel,  meditating  the  master, 
Suzette  now  fluttered  around  him,  now  ran  off  to  the 
far  end  of  the  long  hall,  where  he  could  see  her  in 
miniature,  the  sweetest  portrait  in  France.  At  last  he 
was  really  absorbed,  and  she  went  into  the  city  to  ful 
fil  her  promise.  She  was  nimble  of  finger,  and  though 
the  work  distressed  her  at  first,  she  thought  of  his  ap 
plause,  and  persevered. 

Their  method  was  the  marvel  of  the  unimaginative 
Terrapin,  who  made  some  philosophic  comments  upon 
the  "  spooney"  socially  considered,  and  cut  their  ac 
quaintance. 

They   breakfasted    at  the  cremery  at  seven  o'clock 


MARRIED  ABROAD.  137 

with  the  ouvriers,  and  dined  at  one  of  Duvall's  bouillon 
establishments.  Suzette  found  the  work  easier  as  she 
progressed.  She  was  finally  promoted  to  the  place  of 
coupeur,  or  cutter,  and  had  the  superintendence  of  a 
work-room,  where  she  made  four  francs  a  day,  and  so 
paid  all  her  expenses.  At  the  end  of  the  second  month 
he  took  the  money  which  he  otherwise  would  have  re 
quired  for  board,  and  bought  her  a  watch  and  chain  at 
the  Palais  Royalc.  At  the  same  time  he  put  the  fin 
ishing  touch  to  his  picture,  and  when  hung  upon  his 
wall,  between  their  photographs,  Suzette  danced  before 
it,  and  took  half  the  credit  upon  herself. 

Foolish  Suzette  !  she  did  not  know  how  that  old 
man  was  her  most  dangerous  rival.  He  had  done  what 
no  beautiful  woman  in  ¥  ranee  could  do — weakened  her 
grasp  upon  Ralph  Flare's  heart.  For  now  Ralph's  old 
enthusiasm  for  his  profession  reasserted  itself.  It  was 
his  first  and  deepest  love  after  all. 

"  My  baby,"  he  said  one  night,  "  there  was  a  great 
artist  named  Raphael — and  he  had  a  little  mistress, 
whom  I  don't  think  a  whit  prettier  than  mine.  She 
was  called  the  Fornarina,  just  as  you  may  be  called 
the  Coutouriere,  and  he  painted  her  portrait  in  the 
characters  of  saints  and  of  the  Virgin.  She  will  be  re 
membered  a  thousand  years,  because  Raphael  so  loved 
and  painted  her.  But  he  was  not  a  great  artist  only 
because  he  loved  the  Fornarina,  He  had  something 
that  he  loved  better,  and  so  have  I." 

"  One  more  beloved  than  Suzette  ?"  she  cried. 

"  Yes  !  it  is  art.  I  loved  you  more  than  my  art  be 
fore  ;  but  I  am  going  back  to  my  first  love." 

Suzette   tossed    her  head  and  said  that  she  could 


I38  MARRIED  ABROAD. 

never  be  jealous  of  a  picture,  and  went  her  way  with  a 
simple  faith  and  toiled  ;  and  as  she  toiled  the  more,  so 
grew  her  love  the  purer  and  her  content  the  more 
equal.  She  was  not  the  aerial  thing  she  had  been. 
Retaining  her  elasticity  of  spirit,  she  was  less  volatile* 
more  silent,  more  careful,  more  anxious. 

It  is  wiser,  not  happier,  to  reach  that  estate  called 
thought  ;  for  now  she  asked  herself  very  often  how 
long  this  chapter  of  her  life  would  last.  Must  the  time 
come  when  he  must  leave  her  forever  ?  She  thought 
it  the  bitterest  of  all  to  part  as  they  had  done  before, 
with  anger  ;  but  any  parting  must  be  agony  where  she 
had  loved  so  well.  As  he  lay  sleeping,  he  never  knew 
what  tears  of  midnight  were  plashing  upon  his  face. 
He  could  not  see  how  her  little  heart  was  bleeding  as 
it  throbbed.  Yet  she  went  right  on,  though  sometimes 
the  tears  blinded  her,  till  she  could  not  see  her  needle  ; 
but  the  consciousness  that  this  love  and  labor  had 
made  her  life  more  sanctified  was,  in  some  sort,  com 
pensation. 

One  Sunday  she  rose  before  Ralph,  and  thinking 
that  she  was  unobserved,  stole  out  of  the  hotel  and  up 
the  Boulevard.  He  followed  her,  suspiciously.  She 
crossed  the  Place  de  la  Sorbonne,  turned  the  transept 
of  the  Pantheon,  and  entered  the  old  church  of  St. 
Etienne  du  Mont. 

It  was  early  mass.  The  tapers  which  have  been 
burning  five  hundred  years  glistened  upon  the  tomb  of 
the  holy  St.  Genevieve.  Here  and  there  old  women 
and  girls  were  kneeling  in  the  chapels,  whispering  their 
sins  into  the  ears  of  invisible  priests.  And  beneath 
the  delicate  tracery  of  screen  and  staircase,  and  the 


MARRIED  ABROAD.  139 

gloriously-painted  windows,  and  the  image  of  Jesus 
crucified  looking  down  upon  all,  some  groups  of  poor 
people  were  murmuring  their  prayers  and  making  the 
sign  of  the  cross. 

Ralph  entered  by  a  door  in  the  choir.  He  saw  Su- 
zette  stand  pallidly  beside  the  holy  water,  and  when 
she  had  touched  it  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  and 
made  the  usual  rites,  she  staggered,  as  if  in  shame,  to 
a  remote  chair,  and  kneeling  down  covered  her  face 
with  her  missal.  Now  and  then  the  organ  boomed 
out.  The  censers  were  swung  aloft,  dispensing  their 
perfumes,  and  all  the  people  made  obeisance.  'Ralph 
did  not  know  what  it  all  meant.  He  only  saw  his  lit 
tle  girl  penitent  and  in  prayer,  and  he  knew  that  she 
was  carrying  her  sin  and  his  to  the  feet  of  the  Eternal 
Mercy. 

He  feigned  sleep  in  the  same  way  each  Sunday  suc 
ceeding,  and  she  disappeared  as  before.  After  a  \\hile 
she  spoke  of  her  family,  and  wondered  if  her  father 
would  forgive  her.  She  would  not  have  forgiven  him 
three  months  ago,  but  was  quite  humble  now. 

She  sent  her  photograph  to  the  old  man,  and  a  let 
ter  came  back,  the  first  she  had  received  for  two  years. 

She  felt  unwilling,  also,  to  receive  further  gifts  or 
support  from  Ralph.  If  I  were  his  wife,  she  said,  it 
might  be  well,  but  since  it  is  not  so,  I  must  not  be  de 
pendent. 

Foolish  Suzette  again  !  She  did  not  know  that  men 
love  best  where  they  most  protect.  The  wife  who 
comes  with  a  dower  may  climb  as  high  as  her  husband's 
pocket,  but  seldom  lies  snugly  at  his  heart.  Her 
changed  conduct  did  not  draw  him  closer  to  her.  He 


140  MARRIED  ABROAD. 

felt  uneasy  and  unworthy.  He  missed  the  artfulness 
which  had  been  so  winning.  He  had  jealousies  no 
longer  to  keep  his  passion  quick,  for  he  could  not 
doubt  her  devotion.  There  was  nothing  to  lack  in 
Suzette,  and  that  was  a  fault.  She  had  become  mod 
est,  docile,  truthful,  grave.  A  noble  man  might  have 
appreciated  her  the  better.  Ralph  Flare  was  a  repre 
sentative  man,  and  he  did  not. 

His  friends  in  America  thought  his  ccpy  from  Rem 
brandt  wonderful.  Their  flattery  made  his  ambition 
glow  and  flame.  His  mother,  whose  woman's  instinct 
divine*d  the  cause  of  his  delay  in  Paris,  sent  him  a 
pleading  letter  to  go  southward  ;  and  thus  reprimanded, 
praised,  rewarded,  what  was  he  to  do  ? 

He  resolved  to  leave  France — and  without  Su 
zette  ! 

He  had  not  courage  to  tell  her  that  the  separation 
was  final.  He  spoke  of  an  excursion  merely,  and  took 
but  a  handful  of  baggage.  She  had  doubts  that  were 
like  deaths  to  her  :  but  she  believed  him,  and  after  a 
feverish  night  went  with  him  in  the  morning  to  the 
train.  He  was  to  write  every  day. 

Would  she  take  money  ? 

"  No." 

But  she  might  have  unexpected  wants — sickness, 
accident,  charity  ? 

"If  so,"  she  said  trustfully,  "would  not  her  boy 
come  back  ?" 

He  had  just  time  to  buy  his  ticket  and  gain  the  plat 
form.  He  folded  her  in  his  arms,  and  exchanged  one 
long,  sobbing  kiss.  It  seemed  to  Ralph  Flare  that  the 
sound  of  that  kiss  was  like  a  spell — the  breaking  of  the 


MARRIED  ABROAD.  141 


pleasantest  link  in  his  life — the  passing  from  sinfulness 
to  a  baser  selfishness — the  stamp  and  seal  upon  his  bar 
gain  with  ambition,  whereby  for  the  long  future  he 
was  sold  to  the  sorrow  of  avarice  and  the  deceitfulness 
of  fame. 

There  was  a  sharp  whistle  from  the  locomotive — who 
invented  that  whistle  to  pierce  so  many  bosoms  at  part 
ing  ? — the  cars  moved  one  by  one  till  the  last,  in  which 
he  was  seated,  sprang  forward  with  a  jerk;  and  though 
she  was  quite  blind,  he  saw  her  handkerchief  waving 
till  all  had  vanished,  and  he  would  have  given  the 
world  to  have  shed  one  tear. 

He  has  gone  on  into  the  free  country,  and  to-night 
he  will  sleep  under  the  shadow  of  the  mountains. 

She  has  turned  back  into  the  dark  city,  and  she  will 
not  sleep  at  all  in  her  far-up  chamber. 

It  is  only  one  heart  crushed,  and  thousands  that  de 
serve  more  sympathy  beat  out  every  day.  We  only 
notice  this  one  because  it  shall  lie  bleeding,  and  get  no 
sympathy  at  all. 

PART    VII. 

DISSOLVING    VIEW. 

THAT  he  might  not  meet  with  his  own  countrymen, 
Ralph  halted  at  Milan,  and  in  the  great  deserted  gal 
lery  of  the  Brera  went  steadily  to  work.  If,  as  it  often 
happened,  Suzette's  pale  face  got  between  him  and  the 
canvas,  he  mentioned  his  own  name  and  said  "  re 
nown,"  and  took  a  turn  in  the  remote  corridor  where 
young  Raphael's  Sposializo  hung  opposite  that  marvel 
of  Guercino's — poor  Hagar  and  her  boy  Ishmael  driven 


142  MARRIED  ABROAD. 

abroad.  These  adjuncts  and  the  fiercer  passion  of  self 
had  their  effect. 

He  never  wrote  to  Suzette,  but  sent  secretly  for  his 
baggage,  and  was  well  pleased  with  the  consciousness 
that  he  could  forget  her.  After  three  months  he  set 
out  for  Florence  and  studied  the  masterpieces  of  An 
drea  del  Sarto,  and  tried  his  hand  at  the  Flora  of  Titian . 

He  went  into  society  somewhat,  and  was  very  much 
afraid  his  unworthy  conduct  in  Paris  might  be  bruited 
abroad.  Indeed,  he  could  hardly  forgive  himself  the 
fondness  he  had  known,  and  came  to  regard  Suzette 
as  a  tolerably  bad  person,  who  had  bewitched  him. 
He  burned  all  her  letters,  and  a  little  lock  of  hair  he 
had  clipped  while  she  was  asleep  once,  and  blotted  the 
whole  experience  out  of  his  diary.  The  next  Sunday 
he  went  to  hear  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hall  preach,  and  felt 
quite  consoled. 

The  summer  fell  upon  Val  d'Arno  like  the  upsetting 
of  a  Tuscan  Scaldino,  and  Ralph  Flare  regretfully  took 
his  departure  northward.  All  the  world  was  going  to 
Paris — why  not  he  ?  Was  he  afraid  ?  Certainly  not  ; 
it  had  been  a  great  victory  over  temptation  to  stay 
away  so  long.  He  would  carry  out  the  triumph  by 
braving  a  return. 

In  accordance  with  his  principles  of  economy,  he 
took  a  third-class  ticket  at  Basle.  He  could  so  make 
better  studies  of  passengers  ;  for,  somehow,  your  first- 
class  people  have  not  character  faces.  The  only  char 
acter  you  get  out  of  them  is  the  character  of  wine  they 
consume. 

He  left  the  Alps  behind  him,  and  rolled  all  day 
through  the  prosaic  plains  of  France,  startling  the  pale 


MARRIED  ABROAD.  143 

little  towns,  down  whose  treeless  streets  the  sun  shone, 
oh  !  so  drearily,  and  taking  up  boors  and  market-folks 
at  every  monastic  station.  There  was  a  pretty  young 
.^irl  sitting  beside  Ralph  in  the  afternoon,  but  he  re 
fused  to  talk  to  her,  for  he  was  schooling  himself,  and 
preferred  to  scan  the  features  of  an  odd  old  couple 
who  got  in  at  Troyes. 

They  were  two  old  people  of  the  country,  and  they 
sat  together  in  the  descending  shadows  of  the  day, 
quite  like  in  garb  and  feature,  their  chins  a  little  peak- 
ish,  and  the  hairs  of  both  turning  gray.  The  man  was 
commonplace,  as  he  leaned  upon  a  staff,  and  between 
their  feet  were  paniers  of  purchases  they  had  been 
making,  which  the  woman  regarded  indifferently,  as  if 
her  heart  reached  farther  than  her  eyes,  and  met  some 
soft  departed  scene  which  she  would  have  none  other 
see. 

"  She  has  a  good  face,"  said  Flare.  "  I  wish  she 
would  keep  there  a  moment  more.  By  George,  she 
looks  like  somebody  I  have  known." 

The  old  man  nodded  on  his  staff.  The  rumble  of  the 
carriages  subdued  to  a  lull  all  lesser  talk  or  murmurs, 
and  the  sky  afar  off  brought  into  sharp  relief  the  two 
Gallic  profiles,  close  together,  as  if  they  were  used  to 
reposing  so  ;  yet  in  the  language  of  their  deepening 
lines  lay  the  stories  of  lives  very,  very  wide  apart. 

"  The  old  girl's  face  is  soft,"  said  Ralph  Flare. 
"  She  has  brightened  many  a  bit  of  Belgian  pike  road, 
and  the  brown  turban  on  her  head  is  in  clever  contrast 
to  the  silver  shimmer  of  her  hairs.  How  anomalous 
are  life  and  art  !  How  unconscious  is  this  old  lady  of 
the  narrow  escape  she  is  making  from  perpetuation  ! 


1 44  MARRIED  ABROAD. 

Doubtless  she  works  afield  beside  that  old  Jacques 
Bonhomme,  and  drinks  sour  wine  or  Normandy  cider 
on  Sundays.  That  may  be  the  best  fate  of  Suzette, 
but  it  must  be  an  amply  dry  reformation  for  any  little 
grisette  to  contemplate.  For  such  prodigals  going 
home  there  is  no  fatted  calf  slain.  No  fathers  see 
them  afar  off  and  run  to  place  the  ring  upon  their  fin 
gers.  They  renounce  precarious  gayety  for  persistent 
slavery.  The  keen  wit  of  the  student  is  exchanged  for 
the  pipe  and  mug  and  dull  oath  of  the  boor.  I  wish 
every  such  girl  back  again  to  so  sallow  a  fate,  and  pity 
her  when  she  gets  there." 

And  so,  with  much  unconscious  sentimentality,  and 
the  two  old  market  people  silent  before  him,  Ralph 
Flare's  eyes  half  closed  also,  and  the  lull  of  the  wheels, 
the  long  lake  streaks  of  the  sedative  skies,  the  coming 
of  great  shadows  like  compulsions  to  slumber,  made 
his  forehead  fall  and  the  world  go  up  and  down  and 
darken. 

It  was  the  old  woman  who  shook  him  from  that 
repose ;  she  only  touched  him,  but  her  touch  was 
like  a  lost  sense  restored.  He  thrilled  and  sat  stock 
still,  with  her  withered  blue  hand  on  his  arm,  and 
heard  the  pinched  lips  say,  unclosing  with  a  sort  of 
quiver  : 

"Baby!" 

He  looked  again,  and  seemed  to  himself  to  grow 
quite  old  as  he  looked,  and  he  said, 

' '  Enfant  perdu  /' ' 

The  turban  kept  its  place,  the  peaked  chin  kept  as 
peaked  ;  there  seemed  even  more  silver  in  the  smooth 
hair,  and  the  old  serge  gown  drooped  as  brownly  ;  but 


MARRIED   ABROAD.  145 

the  sweet  old  face  grew  soft  as  a  widow's  looking  at 
the  only  portrait  she  guards,  and  a  tear,  like  a  drop  of 
water  exhumed,  ran  to  the  tip  of  her  nostril. 

"  Suzette  !"  he  said,  "  my  early  sin  ;  do  you  come 
back  as  well  with  the  turning  of  my  hairs  ?  Has  the 
first  passion  a  shadow  long  as  forever  ?  Why  have  we 
met  ?" 

"  Not  of  my  seeking  was  this  meeting,  Ralph.  Speak 
softly,  for  my  husband  sleeps,  and  he  is  old  like  thee 
and  me.  If  my  face  is  an  accusation,  let  my  lips  be 
forgiveness.  The  love  of  you  made  my  life  dutiful  ; 
the  loss  of  you  saddened  my  days,  but  it  was  the  sad 
ness  of  religion  !  I  sinned  no  more,  and  sought  my 
father's  fields,  and  delayed,  with  my  hand  purified  by 
his  blessing,  the  residue  of  his  sands  of  life.  I  made 
my  years  good  to  my  neighbors,  the  sick,  the  bereaved. 
I  met  the  temptations  of  the  young  with  a  truer  story 
than  pleasure  tells,  and  when  I  married  it  was  with  the 
prelude  of  my  lost  years  related  and  forgiven.  With 
children's  faces  the  earnestness  and  beauty  of  life  re 
turned  ;  for  this,  for  more,  for  all,  may  your  reward 
be  bountiful  !" 

There  is  no  curse  like  the  dream  of  old  age.  Ralph 
Flare  felt,  with  the  sudden  whitening  of  each  separate 
hair,  the  sudden  remembrance  of  each  separate  folly  ; 
and  the  moments  of  grief  he  had  wrung  from  the  little 
girl  of  the  Quartier  Latin  revived  like  one's  mean  acts 
seen  through  others'  eyes. 

"  Pardon  you,  child,  Suzette  ?"  he  said  ;  "  to  me  you 
were  more  than  I  hoped,  more  than  I  wished.  I  asked 
your  face  only,  and  you  gave  me  your  heart.  For  the 
unfaithfulness,  for  the  wrath,  for  the  unmanliness,  for 


146  MARRIED  ABROAD. 

the  tyranny  with  which  I  treated  you,  my  soul  up 
braids  me." 

"  How  thankful  am  I,"  she  answered  ;  "  the  terror 
to  rne  was  that  you  had  learned  in  the  Quartier  lessons 
to  make  your  after-life  monotonous.  I  am  happy." 

Their  hands  met  ;  to  his  gray  beard  fell  the  smile 
upon  her  mouth  ;  they  forget  the  Quartier  Latin  ;  they 
felt  no  love  but  forgiveness,  which  is  the  tenderest  of 
emotions.  The  whistle  blew  shrilly  ;  the  train  stopped  ; 
Ralph  Flare  awoke  from  sleep  ;  but  the  old  couple 
were  gone. 

He  went  to  Paris,  and,  contrary  to  his  purpose,  in 
quired  for  her.  She  had  been  seen  by  none  since  his 
departure.  He  wrote  to  the  Maire  of  her  commune, 
and  this  was  the  reply  : 

"  Ralph,  Merci  !     Pardonne  ! 

"  SUZETTE." 

He  felt  no  loss.  He  felt  softened  toward  her  only  ; 
and  he  turned  his  back  on  the  Quartier  Latin  with  a 
man's  easy  satisfaction  that  he  could  forget. 


THE   PIGEON   GIRL. 


THE   PIGEON   GIRL. 


ON  the  sloping  market-place, 

In  the  village  of  Compeigne, 
Every  Saturday  her  face. 

Like  a  Sunday,  comes  again  ; 
Daylight  finds  her  in  her  seat, 
With  her  panier  at  her  feet, 

Where  her  pigeons  lie  in  pairs  ; 
Like  their  plumage  gray  her  gown, 
To  her  sabots  drooping  down  ; 
And  a  kerchief,  brightly  brown, 

Binds  her  smooth,  dark  hairs. 

All  the  buyers  knew  her  well, 

And,  perforce,  her  face  must  see, 
As  a  holy  Raphael 

Lures  us  in  a  gallery  ; 
Round  about  the  rustics  gape, 
Drinking  in  her  comely  shape, 

And  the  housewives  gently  speak, 
When  into  her  eyes  they  look, 
As  within  some  holy  book, 
And  the  gables,  high  and  crook. 

Fling  their  sunshine  on  her  cheek. 

In  her  hands  two  milk-white  doves, 

Happy  in  her  lap  to  lie, 
Softly  murmur  of  their  loves, 

Envied  by  the  passers-by  ; 


THE  PIGEON  GIRL. 


One  by  one  their  flight  they  take, 
Bought  and  cherished  for  her  sake, 

Leaving  so  reluctantly  ; 
Till  the  shadows  close  approach, 
Fades  the  pageant,  foot  and  coach, 
And  the  giants  in  the  cloche 

Ring  the  noon  for  Picardie. 

Round  the  village  see  her  glide, 

With  a  slender  sunbeam's  pace  ! 
Mirrored  in  the  Oise's  tide, 

The  gold-fish  float  upon  her  face  ; 
All  the  soldiers  touch  their  caps  ; 
In  the  cafes  quit  their  naps 

Gannon,  guest,  to  wish  her  back  ; 
And  the  fat  old  beadles  smile 
As  she  kneels  along  the  aisle, 
Like  Pucelle  in  other  while, 

In  the  dim  church  of  Saint  Jacques. 

Now  she  mounts  her  dappled  ass  — 

He  well-pleased  such  friend  to  know  — 
And  right  merrily  they  pass 

The  armorial  chateau  ; 
Down  the  long,  straight  paths  they  tread 
Till  the  forest,  overhead, 

Whispers  low  its  leafy  love  ; 
In  the  archways'  green  caress 
Rides  the  wondrous  dryadess  — 
Thrills  the  grass  beneath  her  press, 

And  the  blue-eyed  sky  above. 

I  have  met  her,  o'er  and  o'er, 

As  I  strolled  alone  apart, 
By  a  lonely  carrefour 

In  the  forest's  tangled  heart, 


THE  PIGEON  GIRL-  151 

Safe  as  any  stag  that  bore 
Imprint  of  the  Emperor  ; 

In  the  copse  that  round  her  grew 
Tiptoe  the  straight  saplings  stood, 
Peeped  the  wild  boar's  satyr  brood, 
Like  an  arrow  clove  the  wood 

The  glad  note  of  the  cuckoo. 

How  I  wished  myself  her  friend  ! 

(So  she  wished  that  I  were  more) 
Jogging  toward  her  journey's  end 

At  Saint  Jean  au  Bois  before, 
Where  her  father's  acres  fall 
Just  without  the  abbey  wall  ; 

By  the  cool  well  loiteringly 
The  shaggy  Norman  horses  stray, 
In  the  thatch  the  pigeons  play, 
And  the  forest  round  alway 

Folds  the  hamlet,  like  a  sea. 

Far  forgotten  all  the  feud 

In  my  New  World's  childhood  haunts, 
If  my  childhood  she  renewed 

In  this  pleasant  nook  of  France  ; 
Might  she  make  the  blouse  I  wear, 
Welcome  then  her  homely  fare 

And  her  sensuous  religion  ! 
To  the  market  we  should  ride, 
In  the  Mass  kneel  side  by  side, 
Might  I  warm,  each  eventide, 

In  my  nest,  my  pretty  pigeon. 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

A  TALE  OF  AN  OLD  SUBURB. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE     MURDER. 

BETWEEN  the  Delaware  River  and  Girard  Avenue, 
which  is  the  market  street  of  the  future,  and  east  of 
Frankfort  Road,  lies  Kensington,  a  respectable  old 
district  of  the  Quaker  City,  and  occupying  the  same 
relation  to  it  that  Kensington  in  England  does  to  Lon 
don.  Beyond  both  Kensingtons  is  a  Richmond,  but 
the  English  Richmond  is  a  beauteous  hill,  with  poeti 
cal  recollections  of  Pope  and  Thomson,  while  our 
Richmond  is  the  coal  district  of  Philadelphia,  flat  to 
the  foot  and  dingy  to  the  eye. 

Kensington,  however,  was  once  no  faint  miniature  of 
the  staid  British  suburb.  The  river  bending  to  the 
eastward  there  conducts  certain  of  the  streets  crookedly 
away  from  the  rectangular  Quaker  demon  who  is  ever 
seeking  to  square  them.  Along  the  water  side,  or 
near  it,  passes  a  sort  of  Quay  Street,  between  ship 
yards  and  fish-houses  on  the  one  side,  and  shops  or 
small  tenements  on  the  other,  and  this  street  scarcely 
discloses  the  small  monument  on  the  site  of  the  Treaty 


156          THE   DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

Tree,  where  William  Perm  in  person  satisfied  the 
momentary  expectations  of  his  Indian  subjects. 

Nearly  parallel  to  the  water  side  street  is  another, 
wider  and  more  aristocratic,  and  lined  with  many 
handsome  dwellings  of  brick,  or  even  brown-stone, 
where  the  successful  shipbuilders,  fishtakers,  coal  men, 
and  professional  classes  have  established  themselves  or 
their  posterity.  This  street  was  once  called  Queen, 
afterward  Richmond  Street,  and  it  is  crossed  by 
others,  as  Hanover,  Marlborough,  and  Shackamaxon, 
which  attest  in  their  names  the  duration  of  royal  and 
Indian  traditions  hereabout.  Pleasant  maple,  some 
times  sycamore  and  willow  trees  shade  these  old 
streets,  and  they  are  kept  as  clean  as  any  in  this  ever- 
mopped  and  rinsed  metropolis,  while  the  society, 
though  disengaged  from  the  great  city,  had  its  better 
and  worser  class,  and  was  fastidious  about  morals  and 
behavior,  and  not  disinclined  to  express  its  opinion. 

One  winter  day  in  a  certain  year  Kensington  had  a 
real  sensation.  The  Delaware  was  frozen  from  shore 
to  shore,  and  one  could  walk  on  the  ice  from  Smith's 
to  Treaty  Island,  and  from  Cooper's  Point  to  the 
mouth  of  the  Cohocksink.  On  the  second  afternoon 
of  the  great  freeze  fires  were  built  on  the  river,  and 
crowds  assembled  at  certain  smooth  places  to  see  great 
skaters  like  Colonel  Page  cut  flourishes  and  show  sly 
gallantry  to  the  buxom  housewives  and  grass  widows 
of  Kensington  and  the  Jerseys.  A  few  horses  were 
driven  on  the  ice,  and  hundreds  of  boys  ran  merrily 
with  real  sleighs  crowded  down  with  their  friends.  A 
fight  or  two  was  improvised,  and  unlicensed  vendors 
set  forth  the  bottle  that  inebriates.  In  the  midst  of 


THE   DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         157 

the  afternoon  gayety  a  small  boy,  kneeling  down  to 
buckle  up  to  a  farther  hole  the  straps  on  his  guttered 
skates,  saw  just  at  his  toe  something  like  human  hair. 
The  small  boy  rose  to  his  feet  and  stamped  with  all 
his  might  around  that  object,  not  in  any  apprehension, 
but  because  small  boys  like  to  know  ;  and  when  the  ice 
had  been  well  broken,  kneeling  down  and  pulling  it 
out  in  pieces  with  his  mitten,  the  small  boy  felt  some 
thing  cold  and  smooth,  and  then  he  poked  his  finger 
into  a  human  eye.  It  was  a  dead  man.  No  sooner 
had  the  urchin  found  this  out  than  he  bellowed  out  at 
the  top  of  his  voice,  running  and  falling  as  he  yelled  : 
"  Murder  !  Murder  !  Murder  !" 

From  all  parts  of  the  ice,  like  flies  chasing  over  a 
silver  salver  toward  some  sweet  point  of  corruption, 
the  hundreds  and  thousands  swarmed  at  the  news  that  a 
dead  body  had  been  found.  When  they  arrived  on  the 
spot,  spades,  picks,  and  ice-hooks  had  been  procured 
by  those  nearest  shore,  and  the  whole  mystery  brought 
from  the  depths  of  the  river  to  the  surface. 

There  lay  together  on  the  ice  two  men,  apparently 
several  days  in  the  water,  and  with  the  usual  look  of 
drowned  people  of  good  condition — glassy  and  of  fixed 
expression,  as  if  in  the  moment  of  death  a  consenting 
grimness  had  stolen  into  their  countenances,  neither 
composed  nor  terrified. 

The  bodies  had  been  already  recognized  when  the 
main  part  of  the  crowd  arrived.  Kensington  people, 
generally,  knew  them  both. 

"  It's  William  Zane  and  his  business  partner,  Sayler 
Rainey  !  They  own  one  of  the  marine  railways  at 
Kensington.  Come  to  think  of  it,  I  haven't  seen 


I58         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 


them  around  for  nearly  a  week,  neighbor  !"  exclaimed 
an  old  man. 

"  It's  a  case  of  drowning,  no  doubt,"  spoke  up  a 
little  fellow  who  did  a  river  business  in  old  chains  and 
junk.  "  You  see  they  had  another  ship-mending  place 
on  the  island  opposite  Kinsington,  and  rowin'  their- 
selves  over  was  upset  and  never  missed  !" 

"  Quare  enough  too  !"  added  a  third  party,  "  for 
)isterday  I  had  a  talk  with  young  Andrew  Zane,  this 
one's  son  (touching  the  body  with  his  foot),  and  An 
drew  said — a  little  pale  I  thought  he  was — says  he, 
'  Pop's  about. ' 

Here  a  little  buzz  of  mystery — so  grateful  to  crowds 
which  have  come  far  over  slippery  surface  and  expect 
much — undulated  to  the  outward  boundaries.  As  the 
people  moved  the  ice  cracked  like  a  cannon  shot,  and 
they  dispersed  like  blackbirds,  to  rally  soon  again. 

"  Here's  a  doctor  !  Now  we'll  know  about  it  ! 
He's  here  !"  was  exclaimed  by  several,  as  an  impor 
tant  little  man  was  pushed  along,  and  the  thickest 
crowd  gave  him  passage.  The  little  man  borrowed  a 
boy's  cap  to  kneel  on,  adjusted  a  sort  of  microscopic 
glass  to  his  nose,  as  if  plain  eyes  had  no  adequate  use 
to  this  scientific  necessity,  and  he  called  up  two  volun 
teers  to  turn  the  corpses  over,  keep  back  the  throng, 
give  him  light,  and  add  imposition  to  apprehension. 
Finally  he  stopped  at  a  place  in  the  garments  of  the 
principal  of  the  twain.  "  Here  is  a  hole,"  he  ex- 
Maimed,  "  with  burned  woollen  fibre  about  it,  as  if  a 
pistol  had  been  fired  at  close  quarters.  Draw  back 
this  woollen  under-jacket  !  There — as  I  expected,  gen 
tlemen,  is  a  pistol  shot  in  the  breast  1  What  is  the 


THE   DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         159 

name  of  the  person  ?  Ah  !  thank  you  !  Well,  Wil 
liam  Zane,  gentlemen,  was  shot  before  he  was 
drowned  ?' ' 

The  great  crowd  swayed  and  rushed  forward  again, 
and  again  the  ice  cracked  like  artillery.  Before  the 
multitude  could  swarm  to  the  honey  of  a  crime  a 
second  time,  the  news  was  dispersed  that  both  of  the 
drowned  men  had  bullet  wounds  in  their  bodies,  and 
both  had  been  undoubtedly  murdered.  Some  sup 
posed  it  was  the  work  of  river  pirates  ;  others  a  private 
revenge,  perpetrated  by  some  following  boat's  party  in 
the  darkness  of  night.  But  more  than  one  person 
piped  shrilly  ere  the  people  wearily  scattered  in  the 
dusk  for  their  homes  on  the  two  shores  of  the  river  : 
"  How  did  it  happen  that  young  Zane,  the  old  un's 
son,  said  yisterday  that  his  daddy  was  about,  when 
he's  been  frozen  in  at  least  three  days  ?" 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE    FLIGHT. 

A  HANDSOME  residence  on  the  south  side  of  Queen 
Street  had  been  the  home  of  the  prosperous  ship-car 
penter,  William  Zane.  His  name  was  on  the  door  on 
a  silver  plate.  As  the  evening  deepened  and  the  news 
spread,  the  bell  was  pulled  so  often  that  it  aided  the 
universal  alarm  following  a  crime,  and  a  crowd  of  peo 
ple,  reinforced  by  others  as  fast  as  it  thinned  out,  kept 
up  the  watch  on  ever-recurring  friends,  coroner's  offi 
cers  and  newspaper  reporters,  as  they  ascended  the 
steps,  looked  grave,  made  inquiries,  and  returned  to 
dispense  their  information. 


160          THE   DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

But  there  was  very  little  indignation,  for  Zane  had 
been  an  insanely  passionate  man,  rather  hard  and  ex 
acting,  and  had  he  been  found  dead  alone  anywhere  it 
would  probably  have  been  said  at  once  that  he  brought  it 
on  himself.  His  partner,  Rainey,  however,  had  con 
ducted  himself  so  negatively  and  mildly,  and  was  of 
such  general  estimation,  that  the  murder  of  the  senior 
member  of  the  firm  took  on  some  unusual  public  sym 
pathy  from  the  reflected  sorrow  for  his  fellow-victim. 
The  latter  had  been  one  of  Zane's  apprentices,  raised 
to  a  place  in  the  establishment  by  his  usefulness  and 
sincere  love  of  his  patron.  Just,  forbearing,  soft- 
spoken,  and  not  avaricious,  Sayler  Rainey  deserved  no 
injury  from  any  living  being.  He  was  unmarried,  and, 
having  met  with  a  disappointment  in  love,  had  avowed 
his  intention  never  to  marry,  but  to  bequeath  all  the 
property  he  should  acquire  to  his  partner's  only  son, 
Andrew  Zane. 

What,  then,  was  the  motive  of  this  double  murder  ? 
The  public  comprehension  found  but  one  theory,  and 
that  was  freely  advanced  by  the  rash  and  imputative 
in  the  communiiy  of  Kensington  :  The  murderer  was 
he  who  had  the  only  known  temptation  and  object  in 
such  a  crime.  Who  could  gain  anything  by  it  but  An 
drew  Zane,  the  impulsive,  the  mischief-making  and 
oft-restrained  son  of  his  stern  sire,  who,  by  a  double 
crime,  would  inherit  that  undivided  property,  free  from 
the  control  of  both  parent  and  guardian  ? 

"  It  is  parricide  !  that's  what  it  is  !"  exclaimed  a 
fat  woman  from  Fishtown.  "At  the  bottom  of  the 
river  dead  men  tell  no  tales.  The  rebellious  young 
sarpint  of  a  son,  who  allus  pulled  a  lusty  oar,  has 


THE  DEAF  MAN   OF  KENSINGTON.         *6l 

chased  them  two  older  ones  into  the  deep  water  of  the 
channel,  where  a  pistol  shot  can't  be  heard  ashore,  and 
he  expected  the  property  to  be  his'n.  But  there  are 
gallowses  yet,  thank  the  Lord  !" 

"  Mrs.  Whann,  don't  say  that,"  spoke  up  a  deferen 
tial  voice  from  the  face  of  a  rather  sallow-skinned 
young  man,  with  long,  ringleted,  yellow  hair.  "  Don't 
create  a  prejudice,  I  beg  of  you.  Andrew  Zane  was 
my  classmate.  He  gave  his  excellent  father  some  trou 
ble,  but  it  shouldn't  be  remembered  against  him  now. 
Suppose,  my  friends,  that  you  let  me  ring  the  bell  and 
inquire  ?" 

"Who's  that?"  asked  the  crowd.  "He's  a  fine, 
mature-looking,  charitable  young  man,  anyway." 

"  Its  the  old  Minister  Van  de  Lear's  son,  Calvin. 
He's  going  to  succeed  his  venerable  and  pious  poppy 
in  Kensington  pulpit.  They'll  let  him  in." 

The  door  closed  when  Calvin  Van  de  Lear  entered 
the  residence  of  the  late  William  Zane.  When  it  re 
opened  he  was  seen  with  a  handkerchief  in  his  hand 
and  his  hat  pulled  down  over  his  eyes,  as  if  he  had 
been  weeping. 

"  Stop  !  stop  !  don't  be  going  off  that  way  !"  inter 
posed  the  fat  fishwife.  "  You  said  you  would  tell  us  the 
news." 

"  My  friends,"  replied  Calvin  Van  de  Lear,  with  a 
look  of  the  greatest  pain,  "  Andrew  Zane  has  not  been 
heard  from.  I  fear  your  suspicions  are  too  true  !" 

He  crossed  the  street  and  disappeared  into  the  low 
and  elderly  residence  of  his  parents. 

"  Alas  !  alas  !"  exclaimed  a  grave  and  gentle  old 
man.  "  That  Andrew  Zane  should  not  be  here  to 


162         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

meet  a.  charge  like  this  !     But  I'll  not  believe  it  till  I 
have  prayed  with  my  God." 

Within  the  Zane  residence  all  was  as  in  other  houses 
on  funeral  eves.  In  the  front  parlor,  ready  for  an  in 
quest  or  an  undertaker,  lay  the  late  master  of  the 
place,  laid  out,  and  all  the  visitors  departed  except  his 
housekeeper,  Agnes,  and  her  friend,  "  Podge"  Byer- 
ly.  The  latter  was  a  sunny-haired  and  nimble  little 
lady,  under  twenty  years  of  age,  who  taught  in  one  of 
the  public  schools  and  boarded  with  her  former  school 
mate,  Agnes  Wilt.  Agnes  was  an  orphan  of  unknown 
parentage,  by  many  supposed  to  have  been  a  niece  or 
relative  of  Mr.  Zane's  deceased  wife,  whose  place  she 
took  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  had  grown  to  be  one 
of  the  principal  social  authorities  in  Kensington.  In 
Reverend  Mr.  Van  de  Lear's  church  she  was  both 
teacher  and  singer.  The  young  men  of  Kensington 
were  all  in  love  with  her,  but  it  was  generally  under 
stood  that  she  had  accepted  Andrew  Zane,  and  was 
engaged  to  him. 

Andrew  was  not  dissipated,  but  was  fond  of  pranks, 
and  so  restive  under  his  father's  positive  hand  that  he 
twice  ran  away  to  distant  seaports,  and  thus  incurred 
a  remarkable  amount  of  intuitive  gossip,  such  as  be 
longs  to  all  old  settled  suburban  societies.  This  oc 
casional  firmness  of  character  in  the  midst  of  a  gener 
ally  light  and  flexible  life,  now  told  against  him  in  the 
public  mind.  "  He  has  nerve  enough  to  do  anything 
desperate  in  a  pinch,"  exclaimed  the  very  wisest. 
"  Didn't  William  Zane  find  him  out  once  in  the  island 
of  Barbadoes  grubbing  sugar-cane  with  a  hoe,  and  the 
thermometer  at  120  in  the  shade?  And  didn't  he 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         163 

swear  he'd  stay  there  and  die  unless  concessions  were 
made  to  him,  and  certain  things  never  brought  up 
again  ?  Didn't  even  his  iron-shod  father  have  to  give 
way  before  he  would  come  home  ?  Ah  !  Andrew  is 
light-hearted,  but  he  is  an  Indian  in  self-will  !" 

To-night  Agnes  was  in  the  deepest  grief.  Upon 
her,  and  only  her,  fell  the  whole  burden  of  this  double 
crime  and  mystery,  ten  times  more  terrible  that  her 
lover  was  compromised  and  had  disappeared. 

"  Go  to  bed,  Podge  !"  said  Agnes,  as  the  clock  in 
the  engine-house  struck  midnight.  "  Oblige  me,  my 
dear  !  I  cannot  sleep,  and  shall  wait  and  watch.  Per 
haps  Andrew  will  be  here." 

"  I  can't  leave  you  up,  Aggy,  and  with  that  thing 
so  near."  She  looked  toward  the  front  parlor,  where, 
behind  the  folding-doors,  lay  the  dead. 

I  have  no  fear  of  that.     He  was  always  kind  to 
me.     My  fears  are  all  in  this  world.     O  darling  !" 

She  burst  into  sobs.  Her  friend  kissed  her  again 
and  again,  and  knew  that  feelings  between  love  and 
crime  extorted  that  last  word. 

"  Aggy, "  spoke  the  light-hearted  girl,  "  I  know  that 
you  cannot  help  loving  him,  and  as  long  as  he  is  loved 
by  you  I  sha'n't  believe  him  guilty.  Must  1  really 
leave  you  here  ?" 

Her  weeping  friend  turned  up  her  face  to  give  the 
mandatory  kiss,  and  Podge  was  gone. 

Agnes  sat  in  solitude,  with  her  hands  folded  and  her 
heart  filled  with  unutterable  tender  woe,  that  so  much  ''• 
causeless  cloud  had  settled  upon  the  home  of  her  ref 
uge.  She  could  not  experience  that  relief  many  of  us 
feel  in  deep  adversity,  that  it  is  all  illusion,  and  will  in 


1 64          THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

a  moment  float  away  like  other  dreams.  Brought  to 
this  house  an  orphan,  and  twice  deprived  of  a  mother's 
love,  she  had  only  entered  woman's  estate  when  an 
other  class  of  cares  beset  her.  Her  beauty  and  sweet 
ness  of  disposition  had  brought  her  more  lovers  than 
could  make  her  happy.  There  was  but  one  on  whom 
she  could  confer  her  heart,  and  this  natural  choice  had 
drawn  around  her  the  perils  which  now  overwhelmed 
them  all.  Accepting  the  son,  she  incurred  the  father's 
resentment  upon  both  ;  for  he,  the  dead  man  yonder, 
had  also  been  her  lover. 

"  Oh,  my  God  !"  exclaimed  the  anguished  woman, 
kneeling  by  her  chair  and  laying  her  cheek  upcn  it, 
while  only  such  tears  as  we  shed  in  supreme  moments 
saturated  her  handkerchief,  "  what  have  I  done  to 
make  such  misery  to  others  ?  How  sinful  I  must  be 
to  set  son  and  father  against  each  other  !  Yet,  Heav 
enly  Father,  I  can  but  love  !" 

There  was  a  cracking  of  something,  as  if  the  dead 
man  in  the  great,  black  parlor  had  carried  his  jealousy 
beyond  his  doom  and  was  breaking  from  his  coffin  to 
upbraid  her.  A  door  burst  open  in  the  dining-room, 
which  was  behind  her,  and  then  the  dining-room  door 
also  unclosed,  and  was  followed  by  a  cold,  graveyard 
draft.  A  moment  of  superstition  possessed  Agnes. 
"  Guard  me,  Saviour,"  she  murmured. 

At  the  dining-room  threshold,  advancing  a  little  over 
the  sill,  as  if  to  rush  upon  her,  was  the  figure  of  a  man, 
dressed,  head  to  foot,  in  sailor's  garments — heavy 
woollens,  comforter,  tarpaulin  overalls,  and  knit  cap. 
He  looked  at  her  an  instant,  standing  there,  shivering, 
and  then  he  retired  a  pace  or  two  and  closed  the  door  to 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.          165 


the  cellar,  by  which  he  had  entered  the  house.  Even 
this  little  movement  in  the  intruder  had  something 
familiar  about  it.  He  advanced  again,  directly  and 
rapidly,  toward  her,  but  she  did  not  scream.  He 
threw  both  arms  around  her,  and  she  did  not  cry. 
Something  had  entered  with  that  bold  figure  which  ex 
tinguished  all  crime  and  superstition  in  the  monarchy 
of  its  presence — Love. 

A  kiss,  as  fervent  and  long  as  only  the  reunited  ever 
give  with  purity,  drew  the  soul  of  the  suspected  mur 
derer  and  his  sweeheart  into  one  temple. 

"Agnes,"  he  whispered  hoarsely,  when  it  was 
given,  "  they  have  followed  me  hard  to-night.  Every 
place  I  might  have  resorted  to  is  watched.  All  Ken 
sington — my  oldest  friends — believe  me  guilty  !  I  can 
not  face  it.  With  this  kiss  I  must  go." 

"  Oh,  Andrew,  do  not  !  Here  is  the  place  to  make 
your  peace  ;  here  take  your  stand  and  await  the  worst." 

"  Agnes,"  he  repeated,  "  I  have  no  defence.  Noth 
ing  but  silence  would  defend  me  now,  and  that  would 
hang  me  to  the  gallows.  I  come  to  put  my  life  and 
soul  into  your  hands.  Can  you  pray  for  me,  bad  as  I 
am  ?" 

"  Dear  Andrew,"  answered  Agnes,  weeping  fast,  "  I 
have  no  power  to  stop  you,  and  I  cannot  give  you  up. 
Yes,  I  will  pray  for  you  now,  before  you  start  on  your 
journey.  Go  open  those  folding-doors  and  we  will 
pray  in  the  other  room." 

"  What  is  there  ?" 

"  Your  father." 

He  stopped  a  long  while,  and  his  cheek  was 
blanched. 


1 66         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

"  Go  first,"  he  whispered  finally.  "I  am  not 
afraid. " 

She  led  the  way  to  the  bier,  where  the  body,  with 
the  frost  hardly  yet  thawed  from  it,  lay  under  the  dim 
light  of  the  chandelier.  Turning  up  the  burneis  it  was 
revealed  in  its  relentless,  though  not  unhappy,  expres 
sion — a  large  and  powerful  man,  bearded  and  with  tas 
sels  of  gray  in  his  hair. 

The  young  man  in  his  coarse  sailor's  garb,  muffled 
up  for  concealment  and  disguise,  placed  his  arm 
around  Agnes,  and  his  knees  were  unsteady  as  he  gazed 
down  on  the  remains  and  began  to  sob. 

"  Dear,"  she  murmured,  also  weeping,  "  I  know  you 
loved  him  !" 

The  young  man's  sobs  became  so  loud  that  Agnes 
drew  him  to  a  chair,  and  as  she  sat  upon  it  he  laid  his 
head  in  her  lap  and  continued  there  to  express  a  deep 
inward  agony. 

"  I  loved  him  always,"  he  articulated  at  last,  "  so 
help  me  God,  I  did  !  And  a  parricide!  Can  you  sur 
vive  it  ?" 

"Andrew, "she  replied,  "I  have  taken  it  all  to 
heaven  and  laid  the  sin  there.  Forever,  my  darling, 
intercession  continues  for  all  our  offences  only  there. 
It  must  be  our  recourse  in  this  separation  every  day 
when  we  rise  and  lie  down.  Though  blood-stained,  he 
can  wash  as  white  as  snow." 

"  I  will  try,  I  will  try  !"  he  sobbed  ;  "  but  your 
goodness  is  my  reliance,  dearest.  I  have  always  been 
disobedient  to  my  father,  but  never  thought  it  would 
come  to  this." 

"  Nor  I,  Andrew.     Poor,  hish  uncle  !" 


THE   DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         167 

"  Agnes,"  whispered  Andrew  Zane,  rising  with  a 
sudden  fear,  "  I  hear  people  about  the  house — on  the 
pavement,  on  the  doorsteps.  Perhaps  they  are  sus 
pecting  me.  I  must  fly.  Oh  !  shall  we  ever  meet  again 
under  a  brighter  sky  ?  Will  you  cling  to  me  ?  I  am 
going  out,  abandoned  by  all  the  world.  Nothing  is 
left  me  but  your  fidelity.  Will  it  last  ?  You  know 
you  are  beautiful  !" 

"  Oh,  sad  words  to  say  !"  sighed  Agnes.  "  Let 
none  but  you  ever  say  them  to  me  again.  Beautiful, 
and  to  the  end  of  such  misery  as  this  !  My  only  love, 
I  will  never  forsake  you  !" 

'  Then  I  can  try  the  world  again,  winter  as  it  is. 
Once  more,  oh,  God  !  let  me  ask  forgiveness  from 
these  frozen  lips.  My  father  !  pursue  me  not,  though 
deep  is  my  offence  !  Farewell,  farewell  forever  !" 

He  disappeared  down  the  cellar  as  he  had  come,  and 
Agnes  heard  at  the  outer  window  the  sound  ot  his 
escaping.  When  all  was  silent  she  fell  to  the  floor,  and 
lay  there  helplessly  weeping. 

CHAPTER    III. 

THE      DEAF      MAN. 

THE  inquest  was  held,  and  the  jury  pronounced  the 
double  crime  murder  by  persons  unknown,  but  with 
strong  suspicion  resting  on  Andrew  Zane  and  an  un 
known  laborer,  who  had  left  Pettit's  or  Treaty  Island, 
at  night,  in  an  open  boat  with  William  Zane  and  Sayler 
Rainey.  A  reward  was  offered  for  Andrew  Zane  and 
the  laborer. 

The  will  of  the  deceased  persons  made  Andrew  Zane 


168         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

full  legatee  of  both  estates,  and  left  a  life  interest  in 
the  Queen  Street  house,  and  $2000  a  year  to  "  Agnes 
Wilt,  my  ward  and  housekeeper."  The  executors  of 
the  Zane  estate  were  named  as  Agnes  Wilt,  Rev.  Silas 
Van  de  Lear,  and  Duff  Salter.  The  two  dead  men 
were  interred  together  in  the  old  Presbyterian  burial- 
ground,  and  after  a  month  or  two  of  diminishing  ex 
citement,  Kensington  settled  down  to  the  idea  that 
there  was  a  great  mystery  somewhere  ;  that  Andrew 
Zane  was  probably  guilty  ;  but  that  the  principal  evi 
dence  against  him  was  his  own  flight. 

As  to  Agnes,  there  was  only  one  respectable  opinion 
—that  she  was  a  superb  work  of  nature  and  triumph 
of  womanhood,  notwithstanding  romantic  and  possibly 
awkward  circumstances  of  origin  and  relation.  All 
men,  of  whatever  time  of  life  and  for  whatsoever  rea 
son,  admired  her — the  mean  and  earthy  if  only  for  her 
mould,  the  morally  discerning  for  her  beautiful  quality 
that  pitied,  caressed,  encouraged,  or  elevated  all  who 
came  within  her  sphere. 

"  Preachers  of  the  Gospel  ought  to  have  such  wives, " 
said  the  Rev.  Silas  Van  de  Lear,  looking  at  his  son 
Calvin,  "  as  Agnes  Wilt.  She  is  the  most  handy 
churchwoman  in  all  my  ministration  in  Kensington, 
which  is  now  forty  years.  Besides  being  pious,  and 
virtuous,  and  humble  before  God,  she  is  very  comely  to 
the  eye,  and  possesses  a  house  and  an  independent  in 
come.  A  wife  like  that  would  naturally  help  a  young 
minister  to  get  a  higher  call. ' ' 

Young  Calvin,  who  was  expected  to  succeed  his 
father  in  the  venerable  church  close  by,  and  was  study 
ing  divinity,  said  with  much  cool  maturity  : 


THE   DEAF  MAiV  OF  KENSINGTON.         169 

"  Pa,  I've  taken  it  all  in.  She's  the  only  single  girl 
in  Kensington  worth  proposing  to.  It's  true  that  we 
don't  know  just  who  she  is,  but  it's  not  that  I'm  so 
much  afraid  of  as  her,  her — in  short,  her  piety." 

"  Piety  does  not  stand  in  the  way  of  marriage,"  an 
swered  the  old  man,  who  was  both  bold  and  prudent, 
wise  and  sincere.  "  In  the  covenant  of  God  nothing 
is  denied  to  his  saints  in  righteousness.  The  sense  of 
wedded  pleasure,  the  beauty  that  delights  the  eye,  love, 
appetite,  children,  and  financial  independence — all  are 
ours,  no  less  as  of  the  Elect  than  as  worldly  creatures. 
The  love  of  God  in  the  heart  warms  men  and  women 
toward  each  other." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that  !"  exclaimed  Calvin,  "  I've  been 
warmed  toward  Miss  Agnes  since  I  was  a  boy.  I  think 
she  is  superb.  But  she  is  a  little  too  good  for  me. 
She  looks  at  me  whenever  I  talk  to  her,  whereas  the 
proper  way  of  humility  would  be  to  look  down.  She 
has  been  in  love  with  Andrew  Zane,  you  know  !" 

'  That,"  said  the  preacher,  "  is  probably  off  ; 
though  I  never  discovered  in  Andrew  more  evil  than  a 
light  heart  and  occasional  rebellion.  If  she  loves  him 
still,  do  not  be  in  haste  to  jar  her  sensibility.  It  is 
thoughtfulness  which  engenders  love." 

The  young  women  of  Kensington  were  divided  about 
Agnes  Wilt.  The  poorer  girls  thought  her  perfect. 
But  some  marriageable  and  some  married  women,  mov 
ing  in  her  own  sphere  of  society,  criticised  her  popu 
larity,  and  said  she  must  be  artful  to  control  so  many 
men.  There  are  no  depths  to  which  jealousy  cannot 
go  in  a  small  suburban  society.  Agnes,  as  an  orphan, 
had  felt  it  since  childhood,  but  nothing  had  ever  hap- 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 


pened  until  now  to  concentrate  slander  as  well  as  sym 
pathy  upon  her.  It  was  told  abroad  that  she  had  been 
the  mistress  of  her  deceased  benefactor,  who  had  fallen 
by  the  hands  of  his  infuriated  son.  Even  the  police 
authorities  gave  some  slight  consideration  to  this  view. 
Old  people  remarked  :  "If  she  has  been  deceiving 
people,  she  will  not  stop  now.  She  will  have  other 
secret  lovers." 

Inquiries  had  been  made  for  some  time  as  to  who 
the  unknown  executor,  Duff  Salter,  might  be,  when 
one  day  Rev.  Mr.  Van  de  Lear  walked  over  to  the 
Zane  house  with  a  broad-shouldered,  grave,  silent-eyed 
man,  who  wore  a  very  long  white  beard  reaching  to  his 
middle.  As  he  was  also  tall  and  but  little  bent,  he 
had  that  mysterious  union  of  strength  and  age  which 
was  perfected  by  his  expression  of  long  and  absolute 
silence. 

"  Agnes,"  said  Mr.  Van  de  Lear,  "  this  is  an  old 
Scotch-Irish  friend  and  classmate  of  the  late  Mr.  Zane, 
Duff  Salter  of  Arkansas.  He  cannot  hear  what  I  have 
said,  for  he  is  almost  stone  deaf.  However,  go  through 
the  motions  of  shaking  hands.  I  am  told  he  has  heard 
very  little  of  anything  for  the  past  ten  years.  An  ex 
plosion  in  a  quicksilver  mine  broke  his  ear-drums." 

Agnes,  dressed  in  deep  black,  shook  hands  with  the 
grave  stranger  dutifully,  and  said  : 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  welcome,  sir." 

Mr.  Salter  looked  at  her  closely  and  gently,  and 
seemed  to  be  pleased  with  the  inspection,  for  he  took 
a  small  gold  box  from  his  pocket,  unlocked  it  and 
sniffed  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  then  gave  a  sneeze,  which 
he  articulated,  plain  as  speech,  into  the  words  :  "  Jeri- 


THE  DEAF  MAN   OF  KENSINGTON.         171 

cho  !  Jericho  !"  Then  placing  the  box  in  the  pocket 
of  his  long  coat,  he  remarked  : 

"  Miss  Agnes,  as  one  of  the  executors  is  a  lady,  and 
another  is  our  venerable  friend  here,  who  has  no  inclina 
tion  to  attend  to  the  settlement  of  Mr.  Zane's  estate, 
it  will  devolve  upon  me  to  examine  the  whole  subject. 
I  am  a  stranger  in  the  East.  As  Mr.  Van  de  Lear 
may  have  told  you,  I  don't  hear  anything.  Will  I 
be  welcome  as  a  boarder  under  your  roof  as  long 
as  I  am  looking  into  my  old  friend's  books  and 
papers  ?" 

"  Not  only  welcome,  but  a  protection  to  us,  sir," 
answered  Agnes. 

He  took  a  set  of  ivory  tablets  from  his  pocket,  with  a 
pencil,  and  handing  it  to  her  politely,  said  : 

"  Please  write  your  answer." 

She  wrote  "  Yes." 

The  deaf  lodger  gave  as  little  trouble  as  could  have 
been  expected.  He  had  a  bedroom,  and  moved  a  large 
secretary  desk  into  it,  and  sat  there  all  day  looking  at 
figures.  If  he  ever  wanted  to  make  an  inquiry,  he  wrote 
it  on  the  tablets,  and  in  the  evening  had  it  read  and 
answered.  Agnes  was  a  good  deal  of  the  time  preoc 
cupied,  and  Podge  Byerly,  who  wrote  as  neatly  as  cop 
per-plate,  answered  these  inquiries,  and  conducted  a 
little  conversation  of  her  own.  Podge  was  a  slender 
blonde,  with  line  blue  eyes  and  a  mischievous,  sylph- 
like  way  of  coming  and  going.  Her  freedom  of  mo 
tion  and  address  seemed  to  concern  the  stranger.  One 
day  she  wrote,  after  putting  down  the  answer  to  a  busi 
ness  inquiry  : 

"  Are  you  married  ?" 


1 72         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

He  hesitated  some  time  and  wrote  back,  "  I  hope 
not." 

She  retorted,  "  Could  one  forget  if  one  was  mar 
ried  ?" 

He  replied  on  the  same  tablet  :  "  Not  when  he 
tried." 

Podge  rubbed  it  all  off,  and  thought  a  minute,  and 
then  concluded  that  evening's  correspondence  : 

"  You  are  an  old  tease  !" 

The  next  morning,  as  usual,  she  wrapped  herself  up 
warmly  and  took  the  omnibus  for  her  school,  and  saw 
him  watching  her  out  of  the  upper  window.  That 
night,  instead  of  any  inquiries,  he  stalked  down  in  his 
worked  slippers — the  dead  man's — and  long  dressing 
gown,  and,  after  smiling  at  all,  took  Podge  Byerly's 
hand  and  looked  at  it.  This  time  he  spoke  in  a  sweet, 
modulated  voice, 

"  Very  pretty  !" 

She  was  about  to  reply,  when  he  gave  her  the  ivory 
tablet,  and  put  his  finger  on  his  lip. 

She  wrote,  "  Did  you  ever  fight  a  duel  ?" 

He  shook  his  head  "  No." 

She  wrote  again,  "  What  else  do  they  do  in  Arkan 
sas  ?" 

He  replied,  "  They  love." 

Then  Mr.  Duff  Salter  sneezed  very  loudly,  "  Jeri 
cho  !  Jericho  !  Jericho  !"  Podge  ran  off  at  such  a 
serious  turn  of  responses,  but  was  too  much  of  a  woman 
not  to  be  lured  back  of  her  own  will.  He  wrote  later 
in  the  evening  this  touching  query  : 

"How  do  the  birds  sing  now?  Are  they  all 
dumb  ?" 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.          1 73 

She  answered,  "  Many  can  hear  who  never  heard 
them." 

He  wrote  again,  "  Are  you  suspicious  ?" 

She  replied,  "  Very.     Are  you  ?" 

He  shook  his  head  "  No." 

"  I  believe  he  is,"  said  Podge,  turning  to  Agnes, 
who  had  entered.  "  He  looks  as  if  he  had  asked  that 
question  of  himself." 

Duif  Salter  seized  his  handkerchief  and  sneezed  into 
it,  "  Jericho-o  !  Jericho-wo  !" 

Podge  was  sure  he  was  suspicious  the  next  night 
when  she  read  on  his  tablets  the  rather  imputative  re 
mark, 

"  Is  there  anything  demoralizing  in  teaching  public 
schools  ?" 

She  replied  tartly,  "Yes,  stupid  old  visitors  and 
parents  !" 

"  Excuse  me  !"  he  wrote  ;   "  I  meant  politicians." 

She  replied  in  the  same  spirit  as  before,  "  I  think 
politicians  are  divine  !'' 

Duff  Salter  looked  a  little  wondering  out  of  those 
calm  gray  eyes  and  his  strong,  yet  benevolent  Scotch- 
Irish  countenance.  Podge,  who  now  talked  freely 
with  Agnes  in  his  presence,  said  confidently  : 

"  I  believe  I  can  tantalize  this  good  old  granny  by 
giving  him  doubts  about  me  !  I  am  real  bad,  Aggy  ; 
you  know  that  !  It  is  no  story  to  tell  it  !" 

"  Oh  !  we  are  both  bad  enough  to  try  to  improve," 
exclaimed  Agnes  absently. 

"  Jericho  !  Jericho  !  Jericho  !"  sneezed  Duff  Sal 
ter. 

He  came  down  every  evening,  and  began  respectfully 


174         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

to  bow  to  Agnes  and  to  smile  on  Podge,  and  then 
stretched  his  feet  out  to  the  ottoman,  drew  his  tablets 
up  to  the  small  table  and  proceeded  to  write.  They 
hallooed  into  his  ear  once  or  twice,  but  he  said  he  was 
deaf  as  a  mill-stone,  and  might  be  cursed  to  his  face 
and  wouldn't  understand  it.  They  had  formed  a  pleas 
ing  opinion  of  him,  not  unmixed  with  curiosity,  when 
one  night  he  wrote  on  the  back  of  a  piece  of  paper  : 

"  Have  you  any  idea  who  wrote  this  anonymous  note 
to  me  ?" 

Podge  Byerly  took  the  note  and  found  in  a  woman's 
handwriting  these  words  : 

"  Mr.  Duff  Salter,  I  suppose  you  know  where  you 
are.  Your  hostesses  are  very  insinuating  and  artful — 
and  what  else,  you  can  find  out !  One  man  has  been 
murdered  in  that  family  ;  another  has  disappeared. 
They  say  in  Kensington  the  house  of  Zane  is  haunted. 

"  A  WARNER." 

Podge  read  the  note,  and  her  tears  dropped  upon  it. 
He  moved  forward  as  if  to  speak  to  her,  but  correcting 
himself  hastily,  he  wrote  upon  the  tablets  : 

"  Not  even  a  suspicious  person  is  affected  the  least 
by  an  anonymous  letter.  I  only  keep  it  that  possibly 
I  may  detect  the  sender  !" 

CHAPTER  IV. 

A    SUITOR. 

DUFF  SALTER  and  the  ladies  were  sitting  in  the  back 
parlor  one  evening  following  the  events  just  related, 
when  the  door-bell  rang,  and  Podge  Byerly  went  to 
see  who  was  there.  She  soon  returned  and  closed  the 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.          I  75 

door  of  the  front  pallor,  leaving  a  little  crack,  by  acci 
dent,  and  lighted  the  gas  there. 

"  Aggy, "  whispered  Podge,  coming  in,  "  there's 
Mr.  Calvin  Van  de  Lear,  our  future  minister.  He's 
elegantly  dressed,  and  has  a  nosegay  in  his  hand." 

"  Can't  you  entertain  him,  dear  ?" 

"  I  would  be  glad  enough,  but  he  asked  in  a  very  de 
cided  way  for  you." 

"  For  me  ?" 

Agnes  looked  distressed. 

:'  Yes  ;  he  said  very  distinctly,  '  I  called  to  pay  my 
respects  particularly  to  Miss  Agnes  to-night.'  ' 

Agnes  left  the  room,  and  Duff  Salter  and  Podge 
were  again  together.  Podge  could  hear  plainly  what 
was  said  in  the  front  parlor,  and  partly  see,  by  the 
brighter  light  there,  the  motions  of  the  visitor  and  her 
friend.  She  wrote  on  Duff  Sailer's  tablet,  "  A  deaf 
man  is  a  great  convenience  !" 

"  Why  ?"  wrote  the  large,  grave  man. 

' '  Because  he  can' t  hear  what  girls  say  to  their  beaux. 

"  Is  that  a  beau  calling  on  our  beautiful  friend  ?" 

"  I'm  afraid  so  !" 

"  How  do  you  feel  when  a  beau  comes  ?" 

"  We  feel  important." 

"  You  don't  feel  grateful,  then  ;  only  compli 
mented." 

"  No  ;  we  feel  that  on  one  of  two  occasions  we  have 
the  advantage  over  a  man.  We  can  play  him  like  a 
big  fish  on  a  little  angle." 

"  When  is  the  other  occasion  ?" 

"  Some  women,"  wrote  Podge,  "  play  just  the  same 
with  the  man  they  marry  !" 


I ?6         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

Duff  Salter  looked  up  surprised. 
Isn't  that  wrong  ?"  he  wrote. 

She  answered  mischievously,  "  A  kind  of  !" 

The  large,  bearded  man  looked  so  exceedingly  grave 
that  Podge  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Don't  you  know,"  she  wrote,  "  that  the  propensity 
to  plague  a  man  dependent  on  you  is  inherent  in  every 
healthy  woman  ?" 

He  wrote,  "  I  do  know  it,  and  it's  a  crime  !" 

Podge  thought  to  herself  '  This  old  man  is  dread 
fully  serious  and  suspicious  sometimes." 

As  Duff  Salter  relapsed  into  silence,  gazing  on  the 
fire,  the  voice  cf  Calvin  Van  de  Lear  was  heard  by 
Podge,  pitched  in  a  low  and  confident  key,  from  the 
parlor  side  : 

"  I  called,  Agnes,  when  I  thought  sufficient  time  had 
elapsed  since  the  troubles  here,  to  express  my  deep  in 
terest  in  you,  and  to  find  you,  I  hoped,  with  a  disposi 
tion  to  turn  to  the  sunny  side  of  life's  affairs." 

"  I  am  not  ready  to  take  more  than  a  necessary  part 
in  anything  outside  of  this  house,"  replied  Agnes. 
"  My  mind  is  altogether  preoccupied.  I  thank  you 
for  your  good  wishes,  Mr.  Van  de  Lear." 

"  Now  do  be  less  formal,"  said  the  young  man  per 
suasively.  "  I  have  always  been  Cal.  before — short 
and  easy,  Cal.  Van  de  Lear.  You  might  call  me 
almost  anything,  Aggy. " 

"  I  have  changed,  sir.  Our  afflictions  have  taught 
me  that  I  am  no  longer  a  girl." 

"  You  won't  call  me  Cal.,  then  ?" 

"  No,  Mr.  Van  de  Lear." 

"  I   see  how  it  is,"  exclaimed  the  visitor.      "  You 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         177 


think  because  I  am  studying  for  orders  I  must  be  looked 
up  to.  Aggy,  that's  got  nothing  to  do  with  social 
things.  When  I  take  the  governor's  place  in  our  pul- 
oit  I  shall  make  my  sermons  for  this  generation  alto 
gether  crack,  sentimental  sermons,  and  drive  away 
dull  care.  That's  my  understanding  of  the  good 
shepherd." 

"  Mr.  Van  de  Lear,  there  are  some  cares  so  natural 
that  they  are  almost  consolation.  Under  the  pressure  of 
them  we  draw  nearer  to  happiness.  What  merry  words 
should  be  said  to  those  who  were  bred  under  this  roo 
in  such  misfortunes  as  I  have  now — as  the  absent 
have  ?" 

Podge  saw  Agnes  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  face, 
and  her  neck  shake  a  minute  convulsively.  Duff  Sal- 
ter  here  sneezed  loudly  :  "  Jericho  !  Jerichevv  !  Je-ry- 
cho-o  !"  He  produced  a  tortoise-shell  snuff-box,  and 
Fodge  took  a  pinch,  for  fun,  and  sneezed  until  the 
tears  came  to  her  eyes  and  her  hair  was  shaken  down. 
She  wrote  on  the  tablets, 

"  Men  could  eat  dirt  and  enjoy  it." 

He  replied,  "  At  last  dirt  eats  all  the  men." 

"  It's  to  get  rid  of  them  !"  wrote  Podge.  "  My 
boys  at  school  are  dirty  by  inclination.  They  will 
chew  anything  from  a  piece  of  India  rubber  shoe  to 
slippery  elm  and  liquorice  root.  One  piece  of  liquor 
ice  will  demoralize  a  whole  class.  They  pass  it 
around." 

Duff  Salter  replied,  "  The  boys  must  have  something 
in  their  mouths  ;  the  girls  in  their  heads  !" 

"  But  not  liquorice  root,"  added  Podge. 

"  No  ;  they  put  the  boys  in  their  heads  !" 


178          THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

"  Pshaw  !"  wrote  Podge,  "  girls  don't  like  boys. 
They  like  nice  old  men  who  will  pet  them." 

Here  Podge  ran  out  of  the  room  and  the  conversa 
tion  in  the  front  parlor  was  renewed.  The  voice  of 
Calvin  Van  de  Lear  said  : 

"  Agnes,  looking  at  your  affairs  in  the  light  of  relig 
ious  duty,  as  you  seem  to  prefer,  I  must  tell  you  that 
your  actions  have  not  always  been  perfect." 

Nothing  was  said  in  reply  to  this. 

"  I  am  to  be  your  pastor  at  some  not  distant  day," 
spoke  the  same  voice,  "  and  may  take  some  of  that  privi 
lege  now.  As  a  daughter  of  the  church  you  should  give 
the  encouragement  of  your  beauty  and  favor  only  to 
serious,  and  approved,  and  moral  young  men.  Not 
such  scapegraces  as  Andrew  Zane  !" 

"  Sir  !"  exclaimed  Agnes,  rising.  "  How  dare  you 
speak  of  the  poor  absent  one  ?" 

"  Sit  down,"  exclaimed  Calvin  Van  de  Lear,  not  a 
bit  discomposed.  "  I  have  some  disciplinary  power 
now,  and  shall  have  more.  A  lady  in  full  communion 
with  our  church — a  single  woman  without  a  living 
guardian — requires  to  hear  the  truth,  even  from  an 
erring  brother.  You  have  no  right  to  go  outside 
the  range  at  least  of  respectable  men,  to  place  your 
affections  and  bestow  your  beauty  and  religion  on 
a  particularly  bad  man — a  criminal  indeed — one  al 
ready  fled  from  this  community,  and  under  circum 
stances  of  the  greatest  suspicion.  I  mean  Andrew 
Zane  !" 

"  Hush  !"  exclaimed  Agnes  ;  "  perhaps  he  is  dead." 

A  short  and  awkward  quiet  succeeded,  broken  by 
3'oung  Van  de  Lear's  interruption  at  last  : 


THE   DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.          179 

"  Aggy»  I  don't  know  but  it  is  the  best  thing.  Is  it 
so?" 

"  For  shame,  sir  !" 

He  wouldn't  have  come  to  any  good.  I  know  him 
well.  We  went  to  school  together  here  in  Kensington. 
Under  a  light  and  agreeable  exterior  he  concealed  an 
obstinacy  almost  devilish.  All  the  tricks  and  dare 
devil  feats  we  heard  cf,  he  was  at  the  head  of  them. 
After  he  grew  up  his  eyes  fell  on  you.  For  a  time 
he  was  soberer.  Then,  perceiving  that  you  were  also 
his  father's  choice,  he  conspired  against  his  father,  re 
peatedly  absconded,  and  gave  that  father  great  trouble 
to  find  and  return  him  to  his  home,  and  still  stepped 
between  Mr.  Zane  and  his  wishes.  Was  that  the  part 
cf  a  grateful  and  obedient  son  ?" 

Not  a  word  was  returned  by  Agnes  Wilt. 

"  How  ill-advised,"  continued  Calvin  Van  de  Lear, 
"  was  your  weakness  during  that  behavior  !  Do  you 
know  what  the  tattle  of  all  Kensington  is  ?  That  you 
favored  both  the  father  and  the  son  !•  That  you  de 
clined  the  son  only  because  his  father  might  disinherit 
him,  and  put  off  the  father  because  the  son  would  have 
the  longer  enjoyment  of  his  property  !  I  have  defended 
you  everywhere  on  these  charges.  They  say  even 
more,  Miss  Agnes — if  you  prefer  it — that  the  murder 
of  the  father  was  not  committed  by  Andrew  Zane  with 
out  an  instigator,  perhaps  an  accessory." 

The  voice  of  Agnes  was  heard  in  hasty  and  anxious 
imploration  : 

"For  pity's  sake,  say  no  more.  Be  silent.  Am  I 
not  bowed  and  wretched  enough  ?" 

She  came  hastily  to  the  fissure  of  the  door  and  looked 


i8o          THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

in,  because    Duff    Salter   just    then    sneezed    tremen 
dously  : 

'  Jericho- o-o-o  !     Jer-ry-cho-o-o  !" 

Podge  Byerly  reappeared  with  a  pack  of  cards  and 
shuffled  them  before  Duff  Salter's  face. 

They  sat  down  and  played  a  game  of  euchre  for  a 
cent  a  point,  the  tablets  at  hand  between  them  to  write 
whatever  was  mindful.  Duff  Salter  was  the  best 
player. 

"  I  believe,"  wrote  Podge,  "  that  all  Western  men 
are  gamblers.  Are  you  ?" 

He  wrote,  to  her  astonishment, 

"  I  was." 

"  Wasn't  it  a  sin  ?" 

"  Not  there." 

"  I  thought  gambling  was  a  sin  everywhere  ?" 

"  It  is  everywhere  done, "  wrote  Duff  Salter.  "  You 
are  a  gambler." 

"  That's  a  fib." 

"  You  risk  your  heart,  capturing  another's." 

"  My  heart  is  gone,"  added  Podge,  blushing. 

"  What's  his  name  ?"  wrote  Duff  Salter. 

"  That's  telling." 

Again  the  voices  of  the  two  people  in  the  front  par 
lor  broke  on  Podge's  ear  : 

"  You  must  leave  me,  Mr.  Van  de  Lear.  You  do 
not  know  the  pain  and  wrong  you  are  doing  me." 

"  Agnes,  I  came  to  say  I  loved  you.  Your  beauty 
has  almost  maddened  me  for  years.  Your  resistance 
would  give  me  anger  if  I  had  not  hope  left.  I  know 
you  loved  me  once." 

"  Sir,  it  is  impossible  ;  it  is  cruel." 


THE   DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.          181 

"  Cruel  to  love  you  ?"  repeated  the  divinity  student. 
"  Come  now,  that's  absurd  !  No  woman  is  annoyed 
by  an  offer.  I  swear  I  love  you  reverently.  1  can  put 
you  at  the  head  of  this  society — the  wife  of  a  clergy 
man.  Busy  tongues  shall  be  stilled  at  your  coming 
and  going,  and  the  shadow  of  this  late  tragedy  will  no 
more  plague  your  reputation,  protected  in  the  bosom 
of  the  church  and  nestled  in  mine." 

Sounds  of  a  slight  struggle  were  heard,  as  if  the 
amorous  young  priest  were  trying  to  embrace  Agnes. 

Podge  arose,  listening. 

The  face  of  Duff  Salter  was  stolid,  and  unconscious 
of  anything  but  the  game  of  cards. 

"  I  tell  you,  sir  !"  exclaimed  Agnes,  "  that  your  at 
tentions  are  offensive.  Will  you  force  me  to  insult 
you  ?" 

"  Oh  !  that's  all  put  on,  my  subtle  beauty.  You  are 
not  alarmed  by  these  delicate  endearments.  Give 
me  a  kiss  !" 

"  Calvin  Van  de  Lear,  you  are  a  hypocrite.  The 
gentleman  you  have  slandered  to  win  my  favor  is  as 
dear  to  me  as  you  are  repulsive.  Nay,  sir,  I'll  teach 
you  good  behavior  !" 

She  threw  open  the  folding-doors  just  as  Duff  Salter 
had  come  to  a  terrific  sneeze. 

"  Jericho  !  Jericho  !  Jer-rick-co-o-o-oh  !" 

Looking  in  with  bold  suavity,  Calvin  Van  de  Lear 
made  a  bow  and  took  up  his  hat. 

"  Good-night,"  he  said,  "  most  reputable  ladies,  two 
of  a  kind  !" 

"  I  think,"  wrote  Duff  Salter  frigidly,  as  the  young 
man  slammed  the  door  behind  him,  "  that  we'll  make 


1 82          THE   DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON'. 

a  pitcher  of  port  sangaree  and  have  a  little  glass  before 
we  go  to  bed.  We  will  all  three  take  a  hand  at  cards. 
What  shall  we  play  ?" 

"  Euchre — cut-throat  !"  exclaimed  Podge  Byerly, 
rather  explosively. 

Duff  Salter  seemed  to  have  heard  this,  for,  with  his 
grave  eyes  bent  on  Agnes,  he  echoed,  dubiously  : 

"  Cut-throat  !" 

With  an  impatient  motion  Podge  Byerly  snatched  at 
the  cards,  and  they  fell  to  the  floor. 

Agnes  burst  into  tears  and  left  the  room. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  thought  Podge  Byerly,  "  I  be 
lieve  this  old  gray  rat  is  a  detective  officer  !" 

There  was  a  shadow  over  the  best  residence  on 
Queen  Street. 

Anonymous  letters  continued  to  come  in  almost  by 
every  mail,  making  charges  and  imputations  upon 
Agnes,  and  frequently  connecting  Podge  Byerly  with 
her. 

Terrible  epithets — such  as  "  Murderess  !"  "A 
second  Mrs.  Chapman  !"  "  Jezebel,"  etc. — were  em 
ployed  in  these  letters. 

Many  of  them  were  written  by  female  hands  or  in 
very  delicate  male  chirography,  as  if  men  who  wrote 
like  women  had  their  natures. 

There  was  one  woman's  handwriting  the  girls  learned 
to  identify,  and  she  wrote  more  often  than  any — more 
beautifully  in  the  writing,  more  shameless  in  the  mean 
ing,  as  if,  with  the  nethermost  experience  in  sensuality, 
she  was  prepared  to  subtleize  it  and  be  the  universal 
accuser  of  her  sex. 

"  What  fiends  must  surround  us  !"  exclaimed  Agnes. 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         183 

'  There  must  be  a  punishment  deeper  than  any  for  the 
writers  of  anonymous  letters.  A  murderer  strikes  the 
vital  spot  but  once.  Here  every  commandment  is 
broken  in  the  cowardly  secret  letter.  False  witness, 
the  stab,  illicit  joy,  covetousness,  dishonor  of  father 
and  mother,  and  defamation  of  God's  image  in  the 
heart,  are  all  committed  in  these  loathsome  letters." 

"Yes,"  added  Podge  Byerly,  "the  woman  who 
writes  anonymous  letters,  I  think,  will  have  a  cancer, 
or  wart  on  her  eye,  or  marry  a  bow-legged  man.  The 
resurrectionists  will  get  her  body,  and  the  primary 
class  in  the  other  world  will  play  whip-top  with  the 
rest  of  her." 

Agnes  and  Podge  went  to  church  prayer-meeting  the 
night  following  Calvin  Van  de  Lear's  repulse  at  their 
dwelling,  and  Mr.  Duff  Salter  gave  each  of  them  an  arm. 

Old  Mr.  Van  de  Lear  led  the  exercises,  and,  after 
several  persons  had  publicly  prayed  by  the  direction  of 
the  venerable  pastor,  Calvin  Van  de  Lear,  of  his  own 
motion  and  as  a  matter  of  course,  took  the  floor  and 
launched  into  a  florid  supplication  almost  too  elegant 
to  be  extempore. 

As  he  continued,  Podge  Byerly,  looking  through  her 
fingers,  saw  a  handsome,  high-colored  woman  at  Cal 
vin's  side,  stealing  glances  at  Agnes  Wilt. 

It  was  the  wife  of  Calvin  Van  de  Lear's  brother, 
Knox — a  blonde  of  large,  innocent  eyes,  who  usually 
came  with  Calvin  to  the  church. 

While  Podge  noticed  this  inquisitive  or  stray  glance, 
she  became  conscious  that  something  in  the  prayer 
was  directing  the  attention  of  the  whole  meeting  to 
their  pew. 


1 84          THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

People  turned  about,  and,  with  startled  or  bold 
looks,  observed  Agnes  Wilt,  whose  head  was  bowed 
and  her  veil  down. 

The  voice  of  Calvin  Van  de  Lear  sounded  high  and 
meaningful  as  Podge  caught  these  sentences  : 

"  Lord,  smite  the  wicked  and  unjust  as  thou  smotest 
Sapphira  by  the  side  of  Ananias.  We  find  her  now  in 
the  mask  of  beauty,  again  of  humility,  even,  O  Lord,  of 
religion,  leading  the  souls  of  men  down  to  death  and 
hell.  Thou  knowest  who  stand  before  Thee  to  do  lip 
service.  All  hearts  are  open  to  Thee.  If  there  beany 
here  who  have  deceived  Thine  elect  by  covetousness, 
or  adultery,  or  murder,  Lord,  make  bare  Thine  arm  !" 

The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost  in  the  terrific  series 
of  sneezes  from  Duff  Salter,  who  had  taken  too  big  a 
pinch  of  snuff  and  forgot  himself,  so  as  to  nearly  lift 
the  roof  off  the  little  old  brick  church  with  his  deeply 
accentuated, 

"  Jer-i-cho-whoe  !" 

Even  old  Silas  Van  de  Lear  looked  over  the  top  of 
the  pulpit  and  smiled,  but,  luckily,  Duff  Salter  could 
hardly  hear  his  own  sneezes. 

As  they  left  the  church  Agnes  put  down  her  veil, 
and  trembled  under  the  stare  of  a  hundred  investigat 
ing  critics. 

When  they  were  in  the  street,  Podge  Byerly  re 
marked  : 

"  Oh  !  that  we  had  a  man  to  resent  such  meanness  as 
that.  I  think  that  those  who  address  God  with  slant 
arrows  to  wound  others,  as  is  often  done  at  prayer-meet 
ing,  will  stand  in  perdition  beside  the  writers  of  anony 
mous  letters." 


THE  DEAF  AT  AN  OF  KENSINGTON.         185 

'  They  are  driving  me  to  the  last  point,"  said 
Agnes.  "  I  can  go  to  church  no  more.  When  will 
they  get  between  me  and  heaven  ?  Yet  the  Lord's  will 
be  done." 

CHAPTER    V. 

THE    GHOST. 

SPRING  broke  on  the  snug  little  suburb,  and  buds 
and  birds  fulfilled  their  appointments  on  the  boughs  of 
willows,  ailanthuses,  lindens,  and  maples.  Some  peach- 
trees  in  the  back  yard  of  the  Zane  House  hastened  to 
put  on  their  pink  scarves  and  bonnets,  and  the  boys 
said  that  an  old  sucker  of  Penn's  Treaty  Elm  down 
in  a  ship-yard  was  fresh  and  blithsome  as  a  second 
wife.  In  the  hearts  and  views  of  living  people,  too, 
spring  brought  a  budding  of  youthfulness  and  a  gush  of 
sap.  Duff  Salter  acknowledged  it  as  he  looked  in 
Podge  Byerly's  blue  eyes  and  felt  her  hands  as  they 
wrapped  his  scarf  around  him,  or  buttoned  his  gloves. 
Whispering,  and  without  the  tablets  this  time,  he  ar 
ticulated  : 

"  Happy  for  you,  Mischief,  that  I  am  not  young  as 
these  trees  !" 

"  We'll  have  you  set  out  !"  screamed  Podge,  "  like 
a  piece  of  hale  old  willow,  and  you'll  grow  again  !" 

Duff  Salter  frequently  walked  almost  to  her  school 
with  Podge  Byerly,  which  was  far  down  in  the  old  city. 
They  seldom  took  the  general  cut  through  Maiden  and 
Laurel  Streets  to  Second,  but  kept  down  the  river 
bank  by  Beach  Street,  to  see  the  ship-yards  and  hear 
the  pounding  of  rivets  and  the  merry  adzes  ringing, 


1 86          THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

and  see  youngsters  and  old  women  gathering  chips, 
while  the  sails  on  the  broad  river  came  up  on  wind 
and  tide  as  if  to  shatter  the  pier-heads  ere  they 
bounded  off. 

In  the  afternoons  Duff  Salter  sometimes  called  on 
Rev.  Silas  Van  de  Lear,  who  had  great  expectations 
that  Duff  would  build  them  a  much-required  new 
church,  with  the  highest  spire  in  Kensington. 

"  Here,  Brother  Salter,  is  an  historic  spot,"  wrote 
the  good  old  man.  "  I  shouldn't  object  to  a  spire 
on  my  church,  with  the  figure  of  William  Penn  on  the 
summit.  Friend  William  and  his  sons  always  did  well 
by  our  sect." 

"Is  it  an  established  fact  that  he  treated  with  the 
Indians  in  Kensington  ?"  asked  Duff  Salter,  on  his 
ivory  tablets. 

"  Indisputable  !  Friend  Penn  took  Thomas  Fair- 
man's  house  at  Shackamaxon — otherwise  Eel-Hole — 
and  in  this  pleasant  springtime,  April  4,  1683,  he 
met  King  Tammany  under  the  forest  elm,  with  the 
savage  people  in  half-moon  circles,  looking  at  the 
healthy-fed  and  business-like  Quaker.  There  Tam 
many  and  his  Indian  allies  surrendered  all  the  land  be 
tween  the  Pennypack  and  Neshaminy." 

"  A  Tammany  haul  !"  interrupted  young  Calvin 
Van  de  Lear,  rather  idiotically.  "  What  did  the 
shrewd  William  give  ?" 

"  Guns,  scissors,  knives,  tongs,  hoes,  and  Indian 
money,  and  gew-gaws — not  much.  Philadelphia  had 
no  foundation  then,  and  Shackamaxon  was  an  estab 
lished  place.  We  are  the  Knickerbockers  here  in  Ken 
sington." 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         187 

"  An  honest  Quaker  would  not  build  a  spire,"  wrote 
Duff  Salter,  with  a  grim  smile. 

Duff  Salter  was  well  known  to  the  gossips  of  Ken 
sington  as  a  fabulously  rich  man,  who  had  spent  his 
youth  partly  in  this  district,  and  was  of  Kensington 
parentage,  but  had  roved  away  to  Mexico  as  a  sailor 
boy,  or  clerk,  or  passenger,  and  refusing  to  return,  had 
become  a  mule-driver  in  the  mines  of  cinnabar,  and 
there  had  remained  for  years  in  nearly  heathen  soli 
tude,  until  once  he  arrived  overland  in  Arkansas  with 
a  train  from  Chihuahua,  the  whole  of  it,  as  was  said, 
laden  with  silver  treasure,  and  his  own  property.  He 
had  been  disappointed  in  love,  and  had  no  one  to  leave 
his  riches  to.  This  was  the  story  told  by  Reverend 
Silas  Van  de  Lear. 

The  people  of  Kensington  were  less  concerned  with 
the  truth  of  this  tale  than  with  the  future  intentions  of 
the  visitor. 

"  How  long  he  tarries  in  Zane's  homestead  !"  said 
the  people  that  spring.  "  Hasn't  he  settled  that  estate 
yet  ?" 

"  It  never  will  be  settled  if  he  can  help  it,"  said 
public  Echo,  "  as  long  as  there  are  two  fine  young 
women  there,  and  one  of  them  so  fascinating  over 
men  !" 

Indeed,  Duff  Salter  received  letters,  anonymous,  of 
course— the  anonymous  letter  was  then  the  suburban 
press— admonishing  him  to  beware  of  his  siren  hostess. 

"She  has  ruined  two  men, "  said  the  elegant  female 
handwriting  before  observed.  "  You  must  want  to  be 
the  subject  of  a  coroner's  inquest.  That  house  is  bloody 
and  haunted,  rich  Mr.  Duff  Salter  !  Beware  of  Lady 


1 88         THE  DEAF  MAN   OF  KENSINGTON. 

Agnes,  ike  murderess  !    Beware,  too,  of  her  accomplice, 
the  insinuating  little  Byerly  /" 

Duff  Salter  walked  out  one  day  to  make  the  tour  of 
Kensington.  Pie  passed  out  the  agreeable  old  Frank- 
ford  road,  with  its  wayside  taverns,  and  hay  carts,  and 
passing  omnibuses,  and  occasional  old  farm-like  houses, 
interspersed  with  newer  residences  of  a  city  character, 
and  he  strolled  far  up  Cohocksink  Creek  till  it  mean 
dered  through  billowy  fields  of  green,  and  skirted  the 
edges  of  woods,  and  all  the  way  was  followed  by  a 
path  made  by  truant  boys.  Sitting  down  by  a  spring 
that  gushed  up  at  the  foot  of  a  great  sycamore  tree,  the 
grandly  bearded  traveller,  all  flushed  with  the  roses  of 
exercise,  made  no  unpleasing  picture  of  a  Pan  waiting 
for  Echo  by  appointment,  or  holding  talk  with  the 
grazing  goats  of  the  poor  on  the  open  fields  around 
him. 

"  How  changed  !"  spoke  the  traveller  aloud.  "  I 
have  caught  fishes  all  along  this  brook,  and  waded  up 
its  bed  in  summer  to  cool  my  feet.  The  girl  was  beside 
me  whose  slender  feet  in  innocent  exposure  were  placed 
by  mine  to  shame  their  coarser  mould.  We  thought  we 
were  in  love,  or  as  near  it  as  are  the  outskirts  to  some 
throbbing  town  partly  instinctive  with  a  coming  civic 
destiny.  Alas  !  the  little  brook  that  once  ran  unvexed 
to  the  river,  freshening  green  marshes  at  its  outlet,  has 
become  a  sewer,  discolored  with  dyes  of  factories,  and 
closed  around  by  tenements  and  hovels  till  its  purer 
life  is  over.  My  playmate,  too,  flowed  on  to  woman 
hood,  till  the  denser  social  conditions  shut  her  in  ;  she 
mingled  the  pure  current  of  her  life  with  another  more 
turgid,  and  dull-eyed  children,  like  houses  of  the  sub- 


THE  DEAF  MAN   OF  KENSINGTON.         189 


urbs,  are  builded  on  her  bosom.  I  am  alone,  like  this 
old  tree,  beside  the  spring  where  once  I  was  a  sapling, 
and  still,  like  its  waters,  youth  wells  and  wells,  and 
keeps  us  yet  both  green  in  root.  Come  back,  O  Love  ! 
and  freshen  me,  and,  like  a  rill,  flow  down  my  closing 
years  !" 

Duff  Salter's  shoulder  was  touched  as  he  ceased  to 
speak,  and  he  found  young  Calvin  Van  de  Lear  behind 
him. 

I  have  followed  you  out  to  the  country,"  said  the 
young  man,  howling  in  the  elder's  ear,  "  because  I 
wanted  to  talk  to  you  aloud,  as  I  couldn't  do  in  Ken 
sington.  " 

Duff  Salter  drew  his  storied  ivory  tablets  on  the  di 
vinity  student,  and  said,  crisply,  "  Write  !" 

"  No,  old  man,  that's  not  my  style.  It's  too  slow. 
Besides,  it  admits  of  nothing  impressive  being  said, 
and  I  want  to  convince  you." 

"  Jericho  !  Jericho  !"  sneezed  Duff  Salter. 
"  Young  man,  if  you  stun  my  ear  that  way  a  third  time 
I'll  knock  you  down.  I'm  deaf,  it's  true,  but  I'm  not 
a  hallooing  scale  to  try  your  lungs  on.  If  you  won't 
write,  we  can't  talk." 

With  impatience,  yet  smiling,  Calvin  Van  de  Lear 
wrote  on  the  tablets, 

"  Have  you  seen  the  ghost  ?" 

"  Ghost?" 

"  Yes,  the  ghosts  of  the  murdered  men  !" 

' '  I  never  saw  a  ghost  of  anything  in  my  life.  What 
men  ?" 

"  William  Zane  and  Sayler  Rainey." 

"  Who  has  seen  them  ?" 


I  go         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

"  Several  people.  Some  say  it's  but  one  that  has 
been  seen.  Zane's  ghost  walks,  anyway,  in  Kensing 
ton." 

"  What  for?" 

The  fishwomen  and  other  superstitious  people  say, 
because  their  murderers  have  not  been  punished." 

"  And  the  murderers  are — " 

'  Those  who  survived  and  profited  by  the  murder, 
of  course  ?" 

"  Jer-ri-choo-woo  !"  exploded  Duff  Salter.  "  Young 
man,"  he  wrote  deliberately,  "you  have  an  idle 
tongue." 

"  Friend  Salter,  you  are  blind  as  well  as  deaf.  Do 
you  know  Miss  Podge  Byerly  ?" 

"  No.     Do  you  ?" 

"  She's  common  !  Agnes  Wilt  uses  her  as  a  stool- 
pigeon.  She  fetches,  and  carries,  and  flies  by  night. 
One  of  the  school  directors  shoved  her  on  the  public 
schools  for  intimate  considerations.  Perhaps  you'll 
see  him  about  the  house  if  you  look  sharp  and  late 
some  night. " 

'  Jer-rich-co  !  Jericho  !" 

Duff  Salter  was  decidedly  red  in  the  face,  and  his 
grave  gray  eyes  looked  both  fierce  and  convicted.  He 
had  seen  a  school  director  visiting  the  house,  but 
thought  it  natural  enough  that  he  should  take  a  kind 
interest  in  one  of  the  youthful  and  pretty  teachers.  The 
deaf  man  returned  to  his  pencil  and  tablets. 

"  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Van  de  Lear,  that  what  you 
are  saying  is  indictable  language  ?  It  would  have  ex 
posed  you  to  death  where  I  have  lived." 

The  young  man  tossed  his  head  recklessly.     Duff 


THE   DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         191 

Salter  now  saw  that  his  usually  sallow  face  was  flushed 
up  to  the  roots  of  his  long  dry  hair  and  almost  color 
less  whiskers,  as  if  he  had  been  drinking  liquors.  For 
getting  to  use  the  tablets,  Calvin  spoke  aloud,  but  not 
in  as  high  a  key  as  formerly  : 

"  Mr.  Salter,  Agnes  Wilt  has  no  heart.  She  was  a 
step-niece  of  the  late  Mrs.  Zane — her  brother's  daugh 
ter.  The  girl's  father  was  a  poor  professional  man, 
and  died  soon  after  his  child  was  born,  followed  at 
no  great  distance  to  the  grave  by  his  widow.  While 
a  child,  Agnes  was  cold  and  subtle.  She  professed  to 
love  me — that  was  the  understanding  in  our  childhood. 
She  has  forgotten  me  as  she  has  forgotten  many  other 
men.  But  she  is  beautiful,  and  I  want  to  marry  her. 
You  can  help  me." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  a  cold  and  calculating 
woman?"  wrote  Duff  Salter  stiffly.  "What  do  you 
want  particularly  with  such  a  dangerous  woman — a 
demon,  as  you  indicate  ?" 

"  I  want  to  save  her  soul,  and  retrieve  her  from  wick 
edness.  Upon  my  word,  old  man,  that's  my  only 
game.  You  see,  to  effect  that  object  would  set  me  up 
at  once  with  the  church  people.  I'm  told  that  a  little 
objection  to  my  prospects  in  the  governor's  church 
begins  to  break  out.  If  I  can  marry  Agnes  Wilt,  she 
will  recover  her  position  in  Kensington,  and  make  me 
more  welcome  in  families.  I  don't  mind  telling  you 
that  I  have  been  a  little  gay." 

"That's  nothing,"  wrote  Duff  Salter  smilingly. 
"  So  were  the  sons  of  Eli." 

"Correct!"  retorted  Calvin.  "I  need  a  taming 
down,  and  only  matrimony  can  do  it.  Now,  with 


I92          THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

your  aid  I  can  manage  it.  Miss  Wilt  does  not  fancy 
me.  She  can  be  made  to  do  so,  however,  by  two 
causes." 

"  And  they  are — " 

"  Her  fears  and  her  avarice.  I  propose  to  bring  this 
murder  close  home  to  her.  If  not  a  principal  in  it,  she 
is  an  undoubted  accessory  after  the  fact.  Andrew  Zane 
paid  her  a  visit  the  night  the  dead  bodies  were  discov 
ered  in  the  river." 

'  You  are  sure  of  this  ?" 

"  Perfectly.  I  have  had  a  detective  on  his  track  ; 
too  late  to  arrest  the  rascal,  but  the  identity  of  a  sailor 
man  who  penetrated  into  the  house  by  the  coal-hole  is 
established  by  the  discovery  of  the  clothing  he  ex 
changed  for  that  disguise — it  was  Andrew  Zane.  Con 
cealment  of  that  fact  from  the  law  will  make  her  an  ac 
cessory. " 

"  Jericho  !  Jericho  !"  sneezed  Duff  Salter,  but  with 
a  pale  face,  and  said  : 

"  That  fact  established  would  be  serious  ;  but  it 
would  be  a  gratuitous  and  vile  act  for  you,  who  profess 
to  love  her." 

"It  is  love  that  prompts  me — love  and  pain  !  A 
divine  anger,  I  may  call  it.  I  propose  to  make  myself 
her  rescuer  afterward,  and  establish  myself  in  her  grati 
tude  and  confidence.  You  are  to  help  me  do  this 
by  watching  the  house  from  the  inside." 

"  Dishonorable  !" 

"  You  were  the  friend  of  William  Zane,  the  mur 
dered  man.  Every  obligation  of  friendship  impels 
you  to  discover  his  murderer.  You  are  rich  ;  lend  me 
money  to  continue  my  investigations.  I  know  this  is 


THE    DEAF  MAN   OF  k'EXSL\GTOX.         193 

a  cool  proposition  ;  but  it   is   better  than  spending  it 
on  churches." 

"  Very  well,"  wrote  Duff  Salter,  "  as  the  late  Mr. 
Zane's  executor,  I  will  spend  any  proper  sum  of  money 
to  inflict  retribution  upon  his  injurers.  I  will  watch 
the  house." 

They  went  home  through  Palmer  Street,  on  which 
stood  the  little  brick  church — the  street  said  to  be  oc 
casionally  haunted  by  Governor  Anthony  Palmer's 
phantom  coach  and  four,  which  was  pursued  by  his 
twenty-one  children  in  plush  breeches  and  Panama 
hats,  crying,  "  Water  lots  !  water  fronts  !  To  let  !  to 
lease  !" 

As  Duff  Salter  entered  the  house  he  saw  the  school 
director  indicated  by  Calvin  Van  de  Lear  sitting  in 
the  parlor  with  Podge  Byerly.  For  the  first  time  Duff 
Salter  noticed  that  they  looked  both  intimate  and  con 
fused.  He  tried  to  reason  himself  out  of  this  suspicion. 
"  Pshaw,"  he  said  ;  "  it  was  my  uncharitable  imagina 
tion.  I'll  go  back,  as  if  to  get  something,  and  look 
more  carefully." 

As  the  deaf  man  reopened  the  parlor-door  he  saw  the 
school  director  making  a  motion  as  if  to  embrace 
Podge,  who  was  full  of  blushes  and  appearing  to  shrink 
away. 

"  There's  no  imagination  about  that,"  thought  Duff 
Salter.  "  If  I  could  only  hear  well  enough  my  ears 
might  counsel  me." 

He  felt  dejected,  and  his  suspicions  colored  every 
thing  —a  most  deplorable  state  of  mind  for  a  gentleman. 
Agnes,  too,  looked  guilty,  as  he  thought,  and  hardly 
addressed  a  smile  to  him  as  he  passed  up  to  his  room. 


194         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

Duff  Salter  put  on  his  slippers,  lighted  his  gas,  drew 
the  curtains  down  and  set  the  door  ajar,  for  in  the  in 
creasing  warmth  of  spring  his  grate  fire  was  almost  an 
infliction. 

"  I  have  not  been  wise  nor  just,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  My  pleasing  reception  in  this  house,  and  feminine 
arts,  have  altogether  obliterated  my  great  duty,  which 
was  to  avenge  my  friend.  Yes,  suspicion  was  my  duty. 
1  should  have  been  suspicious  from  the  first.  Even  this 
vicious  young  Van  de  Lear,  shallow  as  he  is,  becomes 
my  unconscious  accuser.  He  says,  with  truth,  that 
every  obligation  of  friendship  impels  me  to  discover  the 
murderers  of  William  Zane. " 

Duff  Salter  arose,  in  the  warmth  of  his  feelings,  and 
paced  up  and  down  the  floor. 

"  Ah,  William  Zane,"  he  said,  "  how  does  thy  image 
come  back  to  me  !  I  was  the  only  friend  he  would  per 
mit.  In  pride  of  will  and  solitary  purpose  he  was  the 
greatest  of  all.  Rough,  unpolished,  a  poor  scholar,  but 
full  of  energy,  he  desired  nothing  but  he  believed  it 
his.  He  desired  me  to  be  his  friend,  and  I  could  not 
have  resisted  if  I  would.  He  made  me  go  with  him 
even  on  his  truant  expeditions,  and  carry  his  game  bag 
along  the  banks  of  the  Tacony,  or  up  the  marshes  of 
Rancocus.  Yet  it  was  a  happy  servitude  ;  for  beneath 
his  impetuous  mastery  was  a  soul  of  devotion.  He 
loved  like  Jove,  and  permitted  no  interposition  in  his 
flame  ;  his  dogmatism  and  force  were  barbarous,  but 
he  gave  like  a  child  and  fought  like  a  lion.  1  saw  him 
last  as  he  was  about  to  enter  on  business,  in  the  twenty- 
first  year  of  his  age,  an  anxious  young  man  with  black 
hair  in  natural  ringlets,  a  pale  brow,  gray  eyes  wide 


THE  DEAF  MAX  OF  KENSINGTON.         195 

apart,  and  a  narrow  but  wilful  chin.  He  was  ever  on 
pivot,  ready  to  spring.  And  murdered  !" 

Duff  Salter  looked  at  the  door  standing  ajar,  at 
tracted  there  by  some  movement,  or  light,  or  shadow, 
and  the  very  image  he  was  describing  met  his  gaze. 
There  were  the  black  ringlets,  the  pale  forehead,  the 
anxious  yet  wilful  expression,  and  the  years  of  youth 
ful  manhood.  It  was  nothing  in  this  world  if  not 
William  Zane  ! 

Duff  Salter  felt  paralyzed  for  a  minute,  as  the  blood 
flowed  back  to  his  heart,  and  a  sense  of  fright  over 
came  him.  Then  he  moved  forward  on  tip-toe,  as  if 
the  image  might  dissolve.  It  did  dissolve  as  he  ad 
vanced  ;  with  a  tripping  motion  it  receded  and  left  a 
naked  space.  In  the  darkness  of  the  stairway  it  ab 
sorbed  itself,  and  the  deaf  man  grasped  the  balustrade 
where  it  had  stood,  and  by  his  trembling  shook  the  rails 
violently.  He  then  staggered  back  to  his  mantel,  first 
bolting  the  door,  as  if  instinctively,  and  swallowed  a 
draught  of  brandy  from  a  medicinal  bottle  there. 

"  There  is  a  ghost  abroad  !"  exclaimed  Duff  Salter 
with  a  shudder.  "  I  have  seen  it." 

He  turned  the  gas  on  very  brightly,  so  as  to  soothe 
his  fears  with  companionable  light.  Then,  while  the 
perspiration  stood  upon  his  forehead,  Duff  Salter  sat 
down  to  think. 

"  Why  does  it  haunt  me  ?"  he  said.  "  Yet  whom 
but  me  should  it  haunt  ?— the  executor  of  my  friend, 
intrusted  with  his  dying  wishes,  bound  to  him  by  an 
cient  ties,  and  recreant  to  the  high  duty  of  punishing 
his  murderers  ?  The  ghost  of  William  Zane  admonishes 
me  that  there  can  be  no  repose  for  my  spirit  until  I 


196         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

take  in  hand  the  work  of  vengeance.  Yes,  if  women 
have  been  accessory  to  that  murder,  they  shall  not  be 
spared.  Miss  Agnes  is  under  surveillance  ;  let  her  be 
blameless,  or  beware  !" 

CHAPTER  VI. 

ENCOMPASSED. 

"  HE  looks  scared  out  of  last  year's  growth,"  re 
marked  Podge  Byerly  when  Duff  Salter  came  down 
stairs  next  day. 

"  Happy  for  him,  dear,  he  is  not  able  to  hear  what  is 
around  him  in  this  place  !"  exclaimed  Agnes  aloud. 

They  always  talked  freely  before  their  guest,  and  he 
could  scarcely  be  alarmed  even  by  an  explosion. 

Duff  wrote  on  his  tablets  during  breakfast  : 

"  I  must  employ  a  smart  man  to  do  errands  for  me, 
and  rid  me  of  some  of  the  burdens  of  this  deafness. 
Do  you  know  of  any  one  ?" 

"  A  mere  laborer  ?"  inquired  Agnes. 

"  Well,  an  old-fashioned,  still-mouthed  fellow  like 
myself — one  who  can  understand  my  dumb  motions." 

Agnes  shook  her  head. 

Said  Duff  Salter  to  himself  : 

"  She  don't  want  me  to  find  such  an  one,  I  guess." 
Then,  with  the  tablets  again,  he  added,  "  It's  neces 
sary  for  me  to  hunt  a  man  at  once,  and  keep  him  here 
on  the  premises,  close  by  me.  I  have  almost  finished 
up  this  work  of  auditing  and  clearing  the  estate.  I 
intend  now  to  pay  some  attention  to  the  tragedy,  acci 
dent,  or  whatever  it  was,  that  led  to  Mr.  Zane's  cutting 
off.  You  will  second  me  warmly  in  this,  I  am  sure." 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         197 

Agnes  turned  pale,  and  felt  the  executor's  eyes  upon 
her. 

Podge  Byerly  was  pale  too. 

Duff  Salter  did  not  give  them  any  opportunity  to  re 
cover  composure. 

'  To  leave  the  settlement  of  this  estate  with  such  a 
cloud  upon  it  would  be  false  to  my  trust,  to  my  great 
friend's  memory,  and,  I  may  add,  to  all  here.  There 
is  a  mystery  somewhere  which  has  not  been  pierced. 
It  is  very  probably  a  domestic  entanglement.  I  shall 
expect  you  (to  Agnes),  and  you,  too,"  turning  to 
Podge,  "to  be  absolutely  frank  with  me.  Miss  Agnes, 
have  you  seen  Andrew  Zane  since  his  father's  body  was 
brought  into  this  house  !" 

Agnes  looked  around  helplessly  and  uncertain.  She 
took  the  tablets  to  write  a  reply.  Something  seemed 
to  arise  in  her  mind  to  prevent  the  intention.  She 
burst  into  tears  and  left  the  table. 

"  Ha  !"  thought  Duff  Salter  grimly,  "  there  will  be 
no  confession  there.  Then,  little  Miss  Byerly,  I  will 
try  to  throw  off  its  guard  thy  saucy  perversity  ;  for 
surely  these  two  women  understand  each  other." 

After  breakfast  he  followed  Podge  Byerly  down 
Queen  Street  and  through  Beach,  and  came  up  with 
her  as  she  went  out  of  Kensington  to  the  Delaware 
water-front  about  the  old  Northern  Liberties  dis 
trict. 

Duff  bowed  with  a  little  of  diffidence  amid  all  his 
gravity,  and  sneezed  as  if  to  hide  it  : 

"  Jericho  ! — Miss  Podge,  see  the  time — eight 
o'clock,  and  an  hour  before  school.  Let  us  go  look 
at  the  river." 


I95         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

They  walked  out  on  the  wharf,  and  were  wholly  con 
cealed  from  shore  by  piles  of  cord- wood  and  staves. 

"  I  like  to  get  off  here,  away  from  listeners,  where  I 
need  not  be  bellowed  at  and  tire  out  well-meaning 
lungs.  Now — Jericho  !  Jericho  !"  he  sneezed,  without 
any  sort  of  meaning.  "  Miss  Podge,"  said  Duff  Sal- 
ter,  "  if  you  look  directly  into  my  eyes  and  articulate 
distinctly,  I  can  hear  all  you  say  without  raising  your 
voice  higher  than  usual.  How  much  money  do  you 
get  for  school  teaching  ?" 

"  Five  hundred  dollars." 

"  Is  that  all  ?     What  do  you  do  with  it  ?" 

"  Support  my  mother  and  brother." 

"  And  yourself  also  ?" 

"  Oh!  yes." 

"  She  can't  do  it  !"  exclaimed  Duff  Salter  inwardly  ; 
"  that  director  comes  in  the  case.  Miss  Podge,  how 
old  is  your  brother  ?" 

"  Twenty-four.  He's  my  junior,"  she  said  archly. 
"  I'm  old." 

"  Why  do  you  support  a  man  twenty-four  years  old  ? 
Did  he  meet  with  an  accident  ?" 

"  He  was  taken  sick,  and  will  never  be  well,"  an 
swered  Podge  warily. 

"  Excuse  me  !"  exclaimed  Duff  Salter,  "  was  it  con 
stitutional  disease  ?  You  know  I  am  interested." 

"  No,  sir.  He  was  misled.  A  woman,  much  older 
than  himself,  infatuated  him  while  a  boy,  and  he  mar 
ried  her,  and  she  broke  his  health  and  ruined  him." 

Podge's  eyes  fell  for  the  first  time. 

Duff  Salter  grasped  her  hand. 

"  And  you  tell  me  !"  he  exclaimed,  "  that  you  keep 


THE  DEAF  ALAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         199 

three  grown  people  on  five  hundred  dollars  a  year  ? 
Don't  you  get  help  from  any  other  quarter  ?" 

"  Agnes  has  given  me  board  for  a  hundred  dollars  a 
year,"  said  Podge,  "  but  times  have  changed  with  her 
now,  and  money  is  scarce.  She  would  take  other 
boarders,  but  public  opinion  is  against  her  on  all  sides. 
It's  against  me  too.  But  for  love  we  would  have 
separated  long  ago." 

Podge's  tears  came. 

"  What  right  had  you,"  exclaimed  Duff  Salter,  rather 
angrily,  "  to  maintain  a  whole  family  on  the  servitude 
of  your  young  body,  wearing  its  roundness  down  to 
bone,  exciting  your  nervous  system,  and  inviting 
premature  age  upon  a  nature  created  for  a  longer  girl 
hood,  and  for  the  solace  of  love  ?" 

She  did  not  feel  the  anger  in  his  tones  :  it  seemed 
like  protection,  for  which  she  had  hungered. 

"  Why,  sir,  all  women  must  support  their  poor  kin." 

"  Men  don't  do  it  !"  exclaimed  Duff  Salter,  pushing 
aside  his  gray  apron  of  beard  to  see  her  more  dis 
tinctly.  "  Did  that  brother  who  rushed  in  vicious 
precocity  to  maintain  another  and  a  wicked  woman 
ever  think  of  relieving  you  from  hard  labor  ?" 

"  He  never  could  be  anything  less  to  me  than 
brother  !"  exclaimed  Podge  ;  "  but,  Mr.  Salter,  if  that 
was  only  all  I  had  to  trouble  me  !  Oh,  sir,  work  is  oc 
cupation,  but  work  harassed  with  care  for  others  be 
comes  unreal.  I  cannot  sleep,  thinking  for  Agnes.  I 
cannot  teach,  my  head  throbs  so.  That  river,  so  cold 
and  impure,  going  along  by  the  wharves,  seems  to  suck 
and  plash  all  day  in  my  ears,  as  we  see  and  hear  it  now. 
At  my  desk  I  seem  to  see  those  low  shores  and  woods 


200         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

and  marshes,  on  the  other  side,  and  the  chatter  of 
children,  going  all  day,  laps  and  eddies  up  like  dirty 
waves  between  me  and  that  indistinct  boundary.  1  am 
floating  on  the  river  current,  drowning  as  I  feel,  reach 
ing  out  for  nothing,  for  nothing  is  there.  All  day  long 
it  is  so.  I  was  the  best  teacher  in  my  rank,  with  cer 
tainty  of  promotion.  I  feel  that  I  am  losing  confi 
dence.  It  is  the  river,  the  river,  and  has  been  so  since 
it  gave  up  those  dead  bodies  to  bring  us  only  ghosts 
and  desolation." 

"  It  was  a  faithful  witness,"  spoke  Duff  Salter,  still 
harsh,  as  if  under  an  inner  influence.  "  Yes,  a  boy — a 
little  boy  such  as  you  teach  at  school — had  the  strength 
to  break  the  solid  shield  of  ice  under  which  the  river 
held  up  the  dead  and  bring  the  murder  out.  Do  you 
ever  think  of  that  as  you  hear  a  spectral  river  surge 
and  buoy  upward,  whose  waves  are  made  by  children's 
murmurs — innocent  children  haunting  the  guilty  ?" 

"  Do  you  mean  me,  Mr.  Salter?  Nothing  haunts 
me  but  care." 

"  I  have  been  haunted  by  a  ghost,"  continued  Duff 
Salter.  "  Yes,  the  ghost  of  my  playmate  has  come  to 
my  threshold  and  peeped  on  me  sitting  there  inatten 
tive  to  his  right  to  vengeance.  We  shall  all  be  haunted 
till  we  give  our  evidence  for  the  dead.  No  rest  will 
come  till  that  is  done." 

"  I  must  go,"  cried  Podge  Byerly.  "You  terrify 
me." 

"  Tell  me,"  asked  Duff  Salter  in  a  low  tone,  "  has 
Andrew  Zane  been  seen  by  Agnes  Wilt  since  he 
escaped  ?" 

"  Don't  ask  me." 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         201 

'  Tell  me,  and  I  will  give  you  a  sum  of  money  which 
shall  get  you  rest  for  years.  Open  your  mind  to  me, 
and  I  will  send  you  to  Europe.  Your  brother  shall  be 
my  brother  ;  your  invalid  mother  will  receive  abundant 
care.  I  will  even  ask  you  to  love  me  !" 

An  instant's  blushes  overspread  Podge's  worn,  pale 
face,  and  an  expression  of  restful  joy.  Then  recurring 
indignation  made  her  pale  again  to  the  very  roots  of 
her  golden  hair. 

"  Betray  my  friend  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Never,  till 
she  will  give  me  leave." 

"  I  have  lost  my  confidence  in  you  both,"  said  Duff 
Salter  coldly,  releasing  Podge's  arm.  "  You  have 
been  so  indifferent  in  the  face  of  this  crime  and  public 
opinion  as  to  receive  your  lovers  in  the  very  parlor 
where  my  dead  friend  lay.  Agnes  has  admitted  it  by 
silence.  I  have  seen  your  lover  releasing  you  from 
his  arms.  Miss  Byerly,  I  thought  you  artless,  even  in 
your  arts,  and  only  the  dupe,  perhaps,  of  a  stronger 
woman.  I  hoped  that  you  were  pure.  You  have  made 
me  a  man  of  suspicion  and  indifference  again."  His 
face  grew  graver,  yet  unbelieving  and  hard. 

Podge  fled  from  his  side  with  alarm  ;  he  saw  her 
handkerchief  staunching  her  tears,  and  people  watch 
ing  her  as  she  nearly  ran  along  the  sidewalk. 

"  Jericho  !  Jerichoo  !  Jer — " 

Duff  Salter  did  not  finish  the  sneeze,  but  with  a  long 
face  called  for  a  boat  and  rower  to  take  him  across  to 
Treaty  Island. 

Podge  arrived  at  school  just  as  the  bell  was  ringing, 
and,  still  in  nervousness  and  tears,  took  her  place  in  her 
division  while  the  Bible  was  read.  She  saw  the  princi- 


202          THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON'. 

pal's  eye  upon  her  as  she  took  off  her  bonnet  and  moist 
ened  her  face,  and  the  boys  looked  up  a  minute  or  two 
inquiringly,  but  soon  relapsed  to  their  individual  selfish 
ness.  When  the  glass  sashes  dividing  the  rooms  were 
closed  and  the  recitations  began,  the  lapping  sound  of 
the  river  started  anew.  A  film  grew  on  her  eyes,  and 
in  it  appeared  the  distant  Jersey  and  island  shore,  with 
the  uncertain  boundary  of  point,  cove,  and  marsh,  like 
a  misty  cold  line,  cheerless  and  void  of  life  or  color,  as 
it  was  every  day,  yet  standing  there  as  if  it  merely  came 
of  right  and  was  the  river's  true  border,  and  was  not  to 
be  hated  as  such.  Podge  strained  to  look  through  the 
illusion,  and  walked  down  the  aisle  once,  where  it 
seemed  to  be,  and  touched  the  plaster  of  the  wall.  She 
had  hardly  receded  when  it  reappeared,  and  all  be 
tween  it  and  her  mind  was  merely  empty  river,  wallow 
ing  and  lapping  and  sucking  and  subsiding,  as  if 
around  submerged  piers,  or  wave  was  relieving  wave 
from  the  weight  of  floating  things  like  rafts,  or  logs,  or 
buoys,  or  bodies.  Into  this  wide  waste  of  muddy  rip 
ples  every  sound  in  the  school-room  swam,  and  also 
sights  and  colors,  till  between  her  eye-lash  and  that 
filmy  distant  margin  nothing  existed  but  a  freshet,  alive 
yet  with  nothing,  eddying  around  with  purposeless 
power,  and  still  moving  onward  with  an  under  force. 
The  open  book  in  her  hand  appeared  like  a  great  white 
wharf,  or  pier,  covered  with  lime  and  coal  in  spots  and 
places,  and  pushed  forward  into  this  hissing,  rippling, 
exclaiming  deluge,  which  washed  its  base  and  spread 
beyond.  Podge  could  barely  read  a  question  in  the 
book,  and  the  sound  of  her  voice  was  like  gravel  or 
sand  pushed  off  the  wharf  into  the  river  and  swallowed 


THE  DEAF  MAN'  OF  KENSINGTON.         203 

there.  She  thought  she  heard  an  answer  in  a  muddy 
tone  and  gave  the  question  out  again,  and  there  seemed 
to  be  laughter,  as  if  the  waters,  or  what  was  drowned  in 
them,  chuckled  and  purled,  going  along.  She  raised 
her  eyes  above  the  laughers,  and  there  the  boundary 
line  of  Jersey  stood  denned,  and  all  in  front  of  it  was 
the  drifting  Delaware.  It  seemed  to  her  that  boys 
were  darting  to  and  fro  and  swapping  seats,  and  one 
boy  had  thrown  a  handful  of  beans.  She  walked  down 
the  aisle  as  if  into  water,  wading  through  pools  and 
waves  of  boys,  who  plashed  and  gurgled  around  her. 
She  walked  back  again,  and  a  surf  of  boys  was  thrown 
at  her  feet.  The  waters  rose  and  licked  and  spilled 
and  flowed  onward  again.  Podge  felt  a  sense  of 
strangling,  as  if  going  down,  in  a  hollow  gulf  of  re 
sounding  wave,  and  shouted  : 

"  Help  !     Save  me  !     Save  me  !" 

She  heard  a  voice  like  the  principal  teacher's,  say  in 
a  lapping,  watery  way,  "  Miss  Byerly,  what  is  the 
meaning  of  this  ?  Your  division  is  in  disorder.  No 
body  has  recited.  Unless  you  are  ill  I  must  suspend 
you  and  call  another  teacher  here." 

"  Help  !  I'm  floating  off  upon  the  river.  Save 'me  ! 
I  drown  !  I  drown  !" 

The  scholars  were  all  up  and  excited.  The  principal 
motioned  another  lady  teacher  to  come,  and  laid 
Podge's  head  in  the  other's  lap. 

"  Is  it  brain  fever  ?"  he  asked. 

"She  has  been  under  great  excitement,"  Podge 
heard  the  other  lady  say.  "  The  Zane  murder  oc 
curred  in  her  family.  Last  night,  I  have  been  told. 
Miss  Byerly  refused  Mr.  Bunn,  our  principal  school 


204         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

director,  and  a  man  of  large  means,  who  had  long  been 
in  love  with  her." 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  said  the  principal. 

"  I  heard  it  from  his  sister,"  said  the  other  lady. 
"  Mortified  at  her  refusal,  because  confident  that  she 
would  accept  him,  he  sailed  this  day  for  Europe." 

These  were  the  last  words  Podge  Byerly  heard. 
Then  it  seemed  that  the  waters  closed  over  her  head. 

Agnes,  left  alone  in  the  homestead,  had  a  few  days 
of  perfect  relief,  except  from  anonymous  letters  and 
newspaper  clippings  delivered  by  mail.  That  refined 
handwriting  which  had  steadily  poured  out  the  venom 
of  some  concealed  hostility  survived  all  other  corre 
spondence — delicate  as  the  graceful  circles  of  the  tiniest 
fish-hooks  whose  points  and  barbs  enter  deepest  in  the 
flesh. 

"  Whom  can  this  creature  be  ?"  asked  Agnes,  bring 
ing  up  her  strong  mind  from  its  trouble.  "  I  can  have 
made  no  such  bitter  enemy  by  any  act  of  mine.  A 
man  would  hardly  pursue  so  light  a  purpose  with  such 
stability.  There  is  more  than  jealousy  in  it  ;  it  is  sin 
cere  hate,  drawn,  I  should  think,  from  a  deep  social 
or  mental  resentment,  and  enraged  because  I  do  not 
sink  under  my  troubles.  Yes,  this  must  be  a  woman 
who  believes  me  innocent  but  wishes  my  ruin.  Some 
one,  perhaps,  who  is  sinning  unsuspected,  and,  in  her 
envy  of  another  and  purer  one,  gloats  in  the  scandal 
which  does  not  justly  stain  me.  The  anonymous 
letter,"  thought  Agnes,  "  is  a  malignant  form  of  con 
science,  after  all  !" 

But  life,  as  it  was  growing  to  be  in  the  Zane  house, 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         205 

was  hardly  worth  living.  Podge  Byerly  was  broken 
down  and  dangerously  ill  at  her  mother's  little  house. 
All  of  Agnes's  callers  had  dropped  off,  and  she  felt 
that  she  could  no  longer  worship,  except  as  a  show,  at 
Van  de  Lear's  church  ;  but  this  deprivation  only  deep 
ened  Agnes's  natural  devotion.  Duff  Salter  saw  her 
once,  and  oftener  heard  her  praying,  as  the  strong  wail 
of  it  ascending  through  the  house  pierced  even  his 
ears. 

'  That  woman,"  said  Duff,  "  is  wonderfully  armed  ; 
with  beauty,  courage,  mystery,  witchery,  she  might 
almost  deceive  a  God." 

The  theory  that  the  house  was  haunted  confirmed 
the  other  theory  that  a  crime  rested  upon  its  inmates. 

"  Why  should  there  be  a  ghost  unless  there  had  been 
a  murder  ?"  asked  the  average  gossip  and  Fishtovvner, 
to  whom  the  marvellous  was  certain  and  the  real  to  be 
inferred  from  it.  Duff  Salter  believed  in  the  ghost,  as 
Agnes  was  satisfied  ;  he  had  become  unsocial  and  suspi 
cious  in  look,  and  after  two  or  three  days  of  absence 
from  the  house,  succeeding  Podge's  disappearance, 
entered  it  with  his  new  servant. 

Agnes  did  not  see  the  servant  at  all  for  some  days, 
though  knowing  that  he  had  come.  The  cook  said  he 
was  an  accommodating  man,  ready  to  help  her  at  any 
thing,  and  of  no  "  airs."  He  entered  and  went,  the 
cook  said,  by  the  back  gate,  always  wiped  his  feet  at 
the  door,  and  appeared  like  a  person  of  not  much 
"  bringing  up."  One  day  Agnes  had  to  descend  to 
the  kitchen,  and  there  she  saw  a  strange  man  eating 
with  the  cook  ;  a  rough  person  with  a  head  of  dark  red 
hair  and  grayish  red  beard  all  round  his  mouth  and 


206         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

under  his  chin.  She  observed  that  he  was  one-legged, 
and  used  a  common  wooden  crutch  on  the  side  of  the 
wooden  leg.  Two  long  scars  covered  his  face,  and  one 
shaggy  eyebrow  was  higher  than  the  other. 

"  I  axes  your  pardon,"  said  the  man  ;  "  me  and 
cook  takes  our  snack  when  we  can,  mum." 

A  day  or  two  after  Agnes  passed  the  same  man 
again  at  the  landing  on  the  stairway.  He  bowed,  and 
said  in  his  Scotch  or  Irish  dialect, 

"  God  bless  ye,  mum  !" 

Agnes  thought  to  herself  that  she  had  not  given  the 
man  credit  for  a  certain  rough  grace  which  she  now 
perceived,  and  as  she  turned  back  to  look  at  him  he 
was  looking  at  her  with  a  fixed,  incomprehensible  ex 
pression. 

"  Am  I  being  watched  ?"  thought  Agnes. 

One  day,  in  early  June,  as  Agnes  entered  the  parlor, 
she  found  Reverend  Silas  Van  de  Lear  there.  At  the 
sight  of  this  good  old  man,  the  patriarch  of  Kensing 
ton,  by  whom  she  had  been  baptized  and  received  into 
the  communion,  Agnes  Wilt  felt  strongly  moved,  the 
more  that  in  his  eyes  was  a  regard  of  sympathy  just  a 
little  touched  with  doubt. 

"My  daughter  !"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  in  his 
clear,  practised  articulation,  "you  are  daily  in  my 
prayers  !" 

The  tears  came  to  Agnes,  and  as  she  attempted  to 
wipe  them  away  the  good  old  gentleman  drew  her  head 
to  his  shoulder. 

"  I  cannot  let  myself  think  any  evil  of  you,  dear  sis 
ter,  in  God's  chastising  providence,"  said  the  clergy 
man.  "  Among  the  angels,  in  the  land  that  is  awaiting 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         207 


me,  I  had  expected  to  see  the  beautiful  face  which  has 
so  often  encouraged  my  preaching,  and  looked  up  at 
me  from  Sabbath-school  and  church.  You  do  not 
come  to  our  meetings  any  more.  My  dear,  let  us  pray 
together  in  your  affliction." 

The  old  man  knelt  in  the  parlor  and  raised  his  -voice 
in  prayer — a  clear,  considerate,  judicial,  sincere  prayer, 
such  as  age  and  long  authority  gave  him  the  right  to 
address  to  heaven.  He  was  not  unacquainted  with 
sorrow  himself  ;  his  children  had  given  him  much  con 
cern,  and  even  anguish,  and  in  Calvin  was  his  last  hope. 
A  thread  of  wicked  commonplace  ran  through  them 
all  ;  his  sterling  nature  in  their  composition  was  lost 
like  a  grain  of  gold  in  a  mass  of  alloy.  They  had  noth 
ing  ideal,  no  reverence,  no  sense  of  delicacy.  Taking 
to  his  arms  a  face  and  form  that  pleased  him,  the  min 
ister  had  not  ingrafted  upon  it  one  babe  of  any 
divinity  ;  that  coarser  matrix  received  the  sacred  flame 
as  mere  mud  extinguishes  the  lightning.  He  fell  into 
this  reminiscence  of  personal  disappointment  unwit 
tingly,  as  in  the  process  of  his  prayer  he  strove  to  com 
fort  Agnes.  The  moment  he  did  so  the  cold  magis 
tracy  of  the  prayer  ceased,  and  his  voice  began  to  trem 
ble,  and  there  ran  between  the  ecclesiastic  and  his  pa 
rishioner  the  electric  spark  of  mutual  grief  and  under 
standing. 

The  old  man  hesitated,  and  became  choked  with 
emotion. 

As  he  stopped,  and  the  pause  was  prolonged,  Agnes 
herself,  by  a  powerful  inner  impulsion,  took  up  the 
prayer  aloud,  and  carried  it  along  like  inspiration. 
She  was  not  of  the  strong-minded  type  of  women,  rather 


208         THE  DEAF  MAN   OF  KENSINGTON. 

of  the  wholly  loving  ;  but  the  deep  afflictions  of  the  past 
few  months,  working  down  into  the  crevices  and  cells 
of  her  nature,  had  struck  the  impervious  bed  of  piety, 
and  so  deluged  it  with  sorrow  and  the  lonely  sense  of 
helplessness  that  now  a  cry  like  an  appeal  to  judgment 
broke  from  her,  not  despair  nor  accusation,  but  an  ap 
peal  to  the  very  equity  of  God. 

It  arose  so  frankly  and  in  such  majesty,  finding  its 
own  aptest  words  by  its  unconscious  instinct,  that  the 
aged  minister  was  presently  aware  of  a  preternatural 
power  at  his  side.  Was  this  woman  a  witch,  genius, 
demon,  or  the  very  priestess  of  God,  he  asked. 

The  solemn  prayer  ranged  into  his  own  experience 
by  that  touch  of  nature  which  unlocks  the  secret  spring 
of  all,  being  true  unto  its  own  deep  needs.  The  minis 
ter  was  swept  along  in  the  resistless  current  of  the 
prayer,  and  listened  as  if  he  were  the  penitent  and  she 
the  priest.  As  the  petition  died  away  in  Agnes's  phys 
ical  exhaustion,  the  venerable  man  thought  to  himself : 

"  When  Jacob  wrestled  all  night  at  Peniel,  his  angel 
must  have  been  a  woman  like  this  ;  for  she  has  power 
with  God  and  with  men  !" 

CHAPTER  VII. 

FOCUS. 

CALVIN  VAN  DE  LEAR  had  been  up-stairs  with  Duff 
Salter,  and  on  his  way  out  had  heard  the  voice  of 
Agnes  Wilt  praying.  He  slipped  into  the  back  parlor 
and  listened  at  the  crevice  of  the  folding-door  until  his 
father  had  given  the  pastoral  benediction  and  departed. 
Then  with  cool  effrontery  Calvin  walked  into  the  front 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         209 


parlor,  where  Agnes  was  sitting  by  the  slats  of  the 
nearly  darkened  window. 

"  Pardon  me,  Agnes,"  he  said.  "  I  was  calling  on 
the  deaf  old  gentleman  up-stairs,  and  perceiving  that 
devotions  were  being  conducted  here,  stopped  that  I 
might  not  interrupt  them." 

Calvin's  commonplace  nature  had  hardly  been  dazed 
by  Agnes's  prayer.  He  was  only  confirmed  in  the  idea 
that  she  was  a  woman  of  genius,  and  would  take  half 
the  work  of  a  pastor  off  his  hands.  In  the  light  of 
both  desire  and  convenience  she  had,  therefore,  appre 
ciated  in  his  eyes.  To  marry  her,  become  the  proprie 
tor  of  her  snug  home  and  ravishing  person,  and  send  her 
off  to  pray  with  the  sick  and  sup  with  the  older  women 
of  the  flock,  seemed  to  him  such  a  comfortable  con 
summation  as  to  have  Heaven's  especial  approval. 
Thus  do  we  deceive  ourselves  when  the  spirit  of  God 
has  departed  from  us,  even  in  youth,  and  construe  our 
dreams  of  selfishness  to  be  glimmerings  of  a  purer  life. 

Calvin  was  precocious  in  assurance,  because,  in  ad 
dition  to  being  unprincipled,  he  was  in  a  manner  or 
dained  by  election  and  birthright  to  rule  over  Kensing 
ton.  His  father  had  been  one  of  those  strong-willed, 
clear-visioned,  intelligent  young  Eastern  divinity  stu 
dents  who  brought  to  a  place  of  more  voluptuous  and 
easy  burgher  society  the  secular  vigor  of  New  England 
pastors.  Being  always  superior  and  always  sincere, 
his  rule  had  been  ungrumblingly  accepted.  Another 
generation,  at  middle  age,  found  him  over  them  as  he 
had  been  over  their  parents — a  righteous,  intrepid  Prot 
estant  priest,  good  at  denunciation,  counsel,  humor,  or 
sympathy.  The  elders  and  deacons  never  thought  of 


210          THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

objecting  to  anything  after  he  had  insisted  upon  it,  and 
in  this  spirit  the  whole  church  had  heard  submissively 
that  Calvin  Van  de  Lear  was  to  be  their  next  pastor. 
This,  of  course,  was  conditional  upon  his  behavior, 
and  all  knew  that  his  father  would  be  the  last  man  to 
impose  an  injurious  person  on  the  church  ;  they  had 
little  idea  that  "  Cal."  Van  de  Lear  was  devout,  but 
took  the  old  man's  word  that  grace  grew  more  and 
more  in  the  sons  of  the  Elect,  and  the  young  man  had 
already  professed  "  conviction,"  and  voluntarily  been 
received  into  the  church.  There  he  assumed,  like  an 
heir-apparent,  the  vicarship  of  the  congregation,  and  it 
rather  delighted  his  father  that  his  son  so  promptly 
and  complacently  took  direction  of  things,  made  his 
quasi  pastoral  rounds,  led  prayer-meetings,  and  exhort 
ed  Sunday-schools  and  missions.  A  priest  knows  the 
heart  of  his  son  no  more  than  a  king,  and  is  less  suspi 
cious  of  him.  The  king's  son  may  rebel  from  deferred 
expectation  ;  the  priest's  son  can  hardly  conspire 
against  his  father's  pulpit.  In  the  minister's  family 
the  line  between  the  world  and  the  faith  is  a  wavering 
one  ;  religion  becomes  a  matter  of  course,  and  yet  is 
without  the  mystery  of  religion  as  elsewhere,  so  that 
wife  and  sons  regard  ecclesiastical  ambition  as  meritori 
ous,  whether  the  heart  be  in  it  piously  or  profanely. 
Calvin  Van  de  Lear  was  in  the  church  fold  of  his  own 
accord,  and  his  father  could  no  more  read  that  son's 
heart  than  any  other  member's.  Indeed,  the  good  old 
man  was  especially  obtuse  in  the  son's  case,  from  hi: 
partiality,  and  thus  grew  up  together  on  the  same  root 
the  flower  of  piety  and  hypocrisy,  the  tree  and  the 
sucker. 


THE   DEAF  MAN   OF- KENSINGTON.         211 

"  Calvin,"  replied  Agnes,  "  I  do  not  object  to  your 
necessary  visits  here.  Your  father  is  very  dear  to 
me." 

"  But  can't  I  return  to  the  subject  we  last  talked 
of  ?"  asked  the  young  man,  shrewdly. 

"  No.     That  is  positively  forbidden." 

"Agnes,"  continued  Calvin,  "you  must  know  I 
love  you  !" 

Agnes  sank  to  her  seat  again  with  a  look  of  resigna 
tion. 

"  Calvin,"  she  said,  "  this  is  not  the  time.  I  am 
not  the  person  for  such  remarks.  I  have  just  risen 
from  my  knees  ;  my  eyes  are  not  in  this  world." 

"  You  will  be  turning  nun  if  this  continues." 

"I  am  in  God's  hands,"  said  Agnes.  "Yet  the 
hour  is  dark  with  me." 

"  Agnes,  let  me  lift  some  of  your  burden  upon  my 
self.  You  don't  hate  me  ?" 

"  No.     I  wish  you  every  happiness,  Calvin." 

"  Is  there  nothing  you  long  for — nothing  earthly 
and  within  the  compass  of  possibility  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes  !"  Agnes  arose  and  walked  across  the 
floor  almost  unconsciously,  with  the  palms  of  her  hands 
held  high  together  above  her  head.  As  she  walked  to 
and  fro  the  theological  student  perceived  a  change  so 
extraordinary  in  her  appearance  since  his  last  visit 
that  he  measured  her  in  his  cool,  worldly  gaze  as  a 
butcher  would  compute  the  weight  of  a  cow  on  chance 
reckoning. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  Agnes  ?" 

He  spoke  with  a  softness  of  tone  little  in  keeping 
with  his  unfeeling,  vigilant  face. 


2*2          THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

"  Oh,  give  me  love  !  Now,  if  ever,  it  is  love  ! 
Love  only,  that  can  lift  me  up  and  cleanse  my  soul  !" 

"  Love  lies  everywhere  around  you,"  said  the  young 
man.  "  You  trample  it  under  your  feet.  My  heart — 
many  hearts — have  felt  the  cruel  treatment.  Agnes, 
you  must  love  also." 

"  I  try  to  do  so,"  she  exclaimed,  "  but  it  is  not  the 
perfect  love  that  casteth  out  fear  !  God  knows  I  wish 
it  was." 

Her  eyes  glanced  down,  and  a  blush,  sudden  and 
deep,  spread  over  her  features.  The  young  man  lost 
nothing  of  all  this,  but  with  alert  analysis  took  every 
expression  and  action  in." 

"  May  I  become  your  friend  if  greater  need  arises, 
Agnes?  Do  not  repulse  me.  At  the  worst — I  swear 
it  ! — I  will  be  your  instrument,  your  subject." 

Agnes  sat  in  the  renewed  pallor  of  profound  fear. 
God,  on  whom  she  had  but  a  moment  before  called, 
seemed  to  have  withdrawn  His  face.  Her  black  ring 
lets,  smoothed  upon  her  noble  brow  in  wavy  lines,  gave 
her  something  of  a  Roman  matron's  look  ;  her  eye 
brows,  dark  as  the  eyes  beneath  that  now  shrank  back 
yet  shone  the  larger,  might  have  befitted  an  Eastern 
queen.  Lips  of  unconscious  invitation,  and  features 
produced  in  their  wholeness  which  bore  out  a  character 
too  perfect  not  to  have  lived  sometime  in  the  realms  of 
the  great  tragedies  of  life,  made  Agnes  in  her  sorrow 
peerless  yet. 

"  Go,  Calvin  !"  she  said,  with  an  effort,  her  eyes 
still  upon  the  floor  ;  "  if  you  would  ever  do  me  any  aid, 
go  now  !" 

As  he  passed  into    the  passageway  Calvin  Van    de 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         2(3 

Lear  ran  against  a  man  with  a  crutch  and  a  wooden 
leg,  who  looked  at  him  from  under  a  head  of  dark-red 
hair,  and  in  a  low  voice  cursed  his  awkwardness.  The 
man  bent  to  pick  up  his  crutch,  and  Calvin  observed 
that  he  was  badly  scarred  and  had  one  eyebrow  higher 
than  the  other. 

"  Who  are  you,  fellow  ?"  asked  Calvin,  surprised. 

"  I'm  Dogcatcher  !"  said  the  man.  "  When  ye 
see  me  coming,  take  the  other  side  of  the  street." 

Calvin  felt  cowed,  not  so  much  at  these  mysterious 
words  as  at  a  hard,  lowering  look  in  the  man's  face, 
like  especial  dislike. 

Agnes  Wilt,  still  sitting  in  the  parlor,  saw  the  lame 
servant  pass  her  door,  going  out,  and  he  looked  in  and 
touched  his  hat,  and  paused  a  minute.  Something 
graceful  and  wistful  together  seemed  to  be  in  his  bear 
ing  and  countenance. 

"  Anything  for  me  ?"  asked  Agnes. 

"  Nothing  at  all,  mum  !  When  there's  nobody  by 
to  do  a  job,  call  on  Mike." 

He  still  seemed  to  tarry,  and  in  Agnes's  nervous 
condition  a  mysterious  awe  came  over  her  ;  the  man's 
gaze  had  a  dread  fascination  that  would  not  let  her 
drop  her  eyes.  As  he  passed  out  of  sight  and  shut  the 
street  door  behind  him  Agnes  felt  a  fainting  feeling, 
as  if  an  apparition  had  looked  in  upon  her  and  vanished 
— the  apparition,  if  of  anything,  of  him  who  had  lain 
dead  in  that  very  parlor— the  stern,  enamored  master 
of  the  house  whose  fatherhood  in  a  fateful  moment  had 
turned  to  marital  desire,  and  crushed  the  luck  of  all 
the  race  of  Zanes. 

Duff  Salter  was  sitting  at  his  writing  table,  with  an 


214         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

open  snuff-box  before  him,  and,  as  Calvin  Van  de  Lear 
entered  his  room,  Duff  tock  a  large  pinch  of  snuff  and 
shoved  the  tablets  forward.  Calvin  wrote  on  them  a 
short  sentence.  As  Duff  Sailer  read  it  he  started  to 
his  feet  and  sneezed  with  tremendous  energy  : 

"  Jeri-cho  !  Jericho  !  Jerry-cho-o-o  !" 

He  read  the  sentence  again,  and  whispered  very  low  : 

"  Can't  you  be  mistaken  ?" 

"  As  sure  as  you  sit  there  !"  wrote  Calvin  Van  de 
1  .car. 

"  What  is  your  inference  ?"  wrote  Duff  Salter. 

"  Seduction  !" 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  silently  a  few 
minutes,  Duff  Salter  in  profound  astonishment,  Calvin 
Van  de  Lear  with  an  impudent  smile. 

"  And  so  religious  !"  wrote  Duff  Salter. 

"  That  is  always  incidental  to  the  condition,"  an 
swered  Calvin. 

"  It  must  be  a  great  blow  to  your  affection  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  scrawled  the  minister's  son.  "  It 
gives  me  a  sure  thing." 

"  Explain  that  !" 

"  I  will  throw  the  marriage  mantle  over  her.  She 
will  need  me  now  !" 

"  But  you  would  not  take  a  wife  out  of  such  a  situa 
tion  ?" 

"  Oh  !  yes.  She  will  be  as  handsome  as  ever,  and 
)nly  half  as  proud." 

Duff  Salter  walked  up  and  down  the  floor  and 
stroked  his  long  beard,  and  his  usually  benevolent  ex 
pression  was  now  dark  and  ominous,  as  if  with  gloom 
and  anger.  He  spoke  in  a  low  tone  as  if  not  aware 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         215 

that  he  was  heard,  and  his  voice  sounded  as  if  he  also 
did  not  hear  it,  and  could  not,  therefore,  give  it  pitch 
or  intonation  : 

"  Is  this  the  best  of  old  Kensington  ?  This  is  the 
East  !  Where  I  dreamed  that  life  was  pure  as  the  water 
from  the  dear  old  pump  that  quenched  my  thirst  in 
boyhood — not  bitter  as  the  alkali  of  the  streams  of  the 
plains,  nor  turbid  like  the  rills  of  the  Arkansas.  I 
pined  to  leave  that  life  of  renegades, half-breeds, squaws, 
and  nomads  to  bathe  my  soul  in  the  clear  fountains  of 
civilization, — to  live  where  marriage  was  holy  and  piety 
sincere.  I  find,  instead,  mystery,  blood,  dishonor, 
hypocrisy,  and  shame.  Let  me  go  back  !  The  rough 
frontier  suits  me  best.  If  I  can  hear  so  much  wicked 
ness,  deaf  as  I  am,  let  me  rather  be  an  unsocial  hermit 
in  the  woods,  hearing  nothing  lower  than  thunder  !" 

As  Duff  Salter  went  to  his  dinner  that  day  he  looked 
at  Agnes  sitting  in  her  place,  so  ill  at  ease,  and  said  to 
himself, 

"  It  is  true." 

Another  matter  of  concern  was  on  Mr.  Duff  Salter's 
mind — his  serving-man.  Such  an  unequal  servant  he 
had  never  seen — at  times  lull  of  intelligence  and  snap, 
again  as  dumb  as  the  bog-trotters  of  Ireland. 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  you  yesterday  ?"  asked 
the  deaf  man  of  Mike  one  day. 

"  Me  head,  yer  honor  !" 

"  What  ails  your  head  ?" 

"  Vare-tigo  !" 

"  How  came  that  ?" 

"  Falling  out  of  a  ship  !" 


216         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

"  What  did  you  strike  but  water  ?" 

"  Wood  ;  it  nearly  was  the  death  of  me.  For  weeks 
I  was  wid  a  cracked  head  and  a  cracked  leg,  yer 
honor  !" 

Still  there  was  something  evasive  about  the  man,  and 
he  had  as  many  moods  and  lights  as  a  sea  Proteus,  ugly 
and  common,  like  that  batrachian  order,  but  often  en 
kindled  and  exceedingly  satisfactory  as  a  servant.  He 
often  forgot  the  place  where  he  left  off  a  certain  day's 
work,  and  it  had  to  be  recalled  to  him.  He  was  irregu 
lar,  too,  in  going  and  coming,  and  was  quite  as  likely 
to  come  when  not  wanted  as  not  to  be  on  the  spot  when 
due  and  expected.  Duff  Salter  made  up  his  mind  that 
all  the  Eastern  people  must  have  bumped  their  heads 
and  became  subject  to  vertigo. 

One  day  Duff  Salter  received  this  note  : 

"  MR.  DEAF  DUFF  :  Excuse  the  familiarity,  but  the 
coincidence  amuses  me.  I  want  you  to  make  me  a  visit 
this  evening  after  dark  at  my  quarters  in  my  brother, 
Knox  Van  de  Lear's  hguse,  on  Queen  Street  nearly 
opposite  your  plac'e  of  lodging.  If  Mars  crosses  the 
orbit  of  Venus  to-night,  as  I  expect — there  being  signs 
of  it  in  the  milky  way, — you  will  assist  me  in  an  obser 
vation  that  will  stagger  you  on  account  of  its  results. 
Do  not  come  out  until  dark,  and  ask  at  my  brother's 
den  for  CAL." 

"  I  will  not  be  in  to-night,  Mike,"  exclaimed  Duff 
Salter  a  little  while  afterward.  "  You  can  have  all  the 
evening  to  yourself.  Where  do  you  spend  your  spare 
time." 

"  On  Traity  Island,"    replied  Mike    with  a  grin. 


THE   DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         217 

"  I  doesn't  like  Kinsington  afther  dark.     They  say  it 
has  ghosts,  sur. " 

"  But  only  the  ghosts  of  they  killed  as  they  crossed 
from  Treaty  Island." 

"  Sure  enough  !  But  I've  lost  belafe  in  ghosts  since 
they  have  become  so  common.  Everybody  belaves  in 
thim  in  Kinsinglon,  and  I  prefer  to  be  exclusive  and 
sciptical,  yer  honor." 

"  Didn't  you  tell  me  yesterday  that  you  believed  in 
spirits  going  and  coming  and  hoping  and  waiting,  and 
it  gave  you  great  comfort  ?" 

"Did  I,  sur?  I  forgit  it  inthirely.  It  must  have 
been  a  bad  day  for  my  vartigo." 

Duff  Salter  looked  at  his  man  long  and  earnestly, 
and  from  head  to  foot,  and  the  inspection  appeared  to 
please  him. 

Mike,"  he  said,  in  his  loud,  deafish  voice,  "  I  am 
going  to  cure  you  of  your  vertigo." 

"  Whin,  dear  Mister  Salter." 

"Perhaps  to-morrow,"  remarked  Duff  Salter  sig 
nificantly.  "  I  shall  have  a  man  here  who  will  either 
confer  it  on  you  permanently  or  cure  you  instantly." 

Duff  Salter  put  on  his  hat,  took  his  stick,  and  drew 
the  curtains  down. 

Mike  was  sitting  at  the  writing  table  arranging  some 
models  of  vessels  and  steam  tugs  as  his  employer 
turned  at  the  doorway  and  looked  back,  and,  with  a 
countenance  more  waggish  than  exasperated,  Duff  Sal 
ter  shook  his  cane  at  the  unobservant  Irishman,  and 
sagely  gestured  with  his  head. 

Agnes  was  about  to  take  the  head  of  the  tea-table  as 
he  came  down  the  stairs. 


2i8         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

"  No,"  motioned  Duff  Sailer,  and  pointed  out  of 
doors. 

He  gave  a  slight  examination  to  Agnes,  so  delicate 
as  to  be  almost  unnoticed,  though  she  perceived  it. 

Duff  sat  at  the  tea  side  and  wrote  on  his  tablets  : 

"  How  is  little  Podge  coming  on  ?" 

"  Growing  better,"  replied  Agnes,  "  but  she  will  be 
unfit  to  teach  her  school  for  months.  Kind  friends 
have  sent  her  many  things." 

Duff  Salter  waited  a  little  while,  and  wrote  : 

"  I  wish  I  could  leave  everybody  happy  behind  me 
when  I  go  away." 

"  Are  you  going  soon  ?" 

"  I  am  going  at  once,"  wrote  Duff  Salter  with  a  sud 
den  decision.  "  I  am  not  trusted  by  anybody  here, 
and  my  work  is  over." 

Agnes  sat  a  little  while  in  pain  and  wistfulness. 
Finally  she  wrote  : 

"  There  is  but  one  thing  which  prevents  our  perfect 
trust  in  you  ;  it  is  your  distrust  of  us." 

"  I  am  distrustful — too  much  so,"  answered,  in 
writing,  the  deaf  man.  "  A  little  suspicion  soon  over 
spreads  the  whole  nature,  and  yet,  I  think,  one  can  be 
generous  even  with  suspicion.  Among  the  disciples 
were  a  traitor,  a  liar,  a  coward,  and  a  doubter  ;  but 
none  upbraid  the  last,  poor  Thomas,  and  he  is  sainted 
in  our  faith.  Do  you  know  that  suspicion  made  me 
deaf?  Yes;  if  we  mock  Nature  with  distrust,  she  stops 
our  ears.  Do  you  not  remember  what  happened  to 
Zacharias,  the  priest  ?  He  would  not  believe  the  angel 
who  announced  that  his  wife  would  soon  become  a 
mother,  and  for  his  unbelief  was  stricken  dumb  !" 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         219 

The  deaf  guest  had  either  stumbled  into  this  illustra 
tion,  or  written  it  with  full  design.  He  looked  at 
Agnes,  and  the  pale  and  purple  colors  came  and  went 
upon  her  face  as  she  bent  her  body  forward  over  the 
table.  Duff  Salter  arose  and  spoke  with  that  lost 
voice,  like  one  in  a  vacuum,  while  he  folded  his  tablet. 

"  Agnes,"  he  said,  "  it  has  been  cruel  to  a  man  of 
such  a  sceptical  soul  as  mine  to  educate  him  back  from 
the  faith  he  had  acquired  to  theunfaith  he  had  tried  to 
put  behind  him.  Why  dfd  you  do  it  ?  The  suppres 
sion  of  the  truth  is  never  excusable.  The  secret  you 
might  have  scattered  with  a  word,  when  suspicion 
started  against  you,  is  now  diffused  through  every 
family  and  rendezvous  in  Kensington." 

She  looked  miserable  enough,  and  still  received  the 
stab  of  her  guest's  magisterial  tongue  like  an  affliction 
from  heaven. 

"  I  had  also  become  infected  with  this  imputation," 
continued  Duff  Salter.  "  All  things  around  you  looked 
sinister  fora  season.  A  kind  Providence  has  dispelled 
these  black  shadows,  and  I  see  you  now  the  victim 
of  an  immeasurable  mistake.  Your  weakness  and 
another's  obstinacy  have  almost  ruined  you.  I  shall 
save  you  with  a  cruel  hand  ;  let  the  remorse  be  his  who 
hoped  to  outlive  society  and  its  natural  suspicions  by  a 
mere  absence." 

"  I  will  not  let  you  upbraid  him,"  spoke  Agnes  Wilt. 
"  My  weakness  was  the  whole  mistake." 

"  Agnes,"  said  the  grave,  bearded  man,  "  you  must 
walk  through  Kensington  to-morrow  with  me  in  the 
sight  of  the  whole  world." 

She  looked  up  and  around  a  moment,  and  staggered 


220         THE  DEAF  MAN   OF  KENSINGTON. 

toward  a  sofa,  but  would  have  fallen  had  not  Duff  Salter 
caught  her  in  his  arms  and  placed  her  there  with  ten 
der  strength.     He  whispered  in  her  ear  ; 
"  Courage,  little  mother  I"1 

CHAPTER   VIII. 

A     REAL     ROOF-TREE. 

RINGING  the  bell  at  the  low  front  step  of  a  two-story 
brick  dwelling,  Duff  Salter  was  admitted  by  Mr.  Knox 
Van  de  Lear,  the  proprietor,  a  tall,  plain,  commonplace 
man,  who  scarcely  bore  one  feature  of  his  venerable 
father.  "  Come  in,  Mr.  Salter,"  bellowed  Knox, 
"  tea's  just  a-waitin' for  you.  Pap's  here.  You  know 
Cal,  certain  !  This  is  my  good  lady,  Mrs.  Van  de 
Lear.  Lottie,  put  on  the  oysters  and  waffles  !  Don't 
forgit  the  catfish.  There's  nothing  like  catfish  out  of 
the  Delaware,  Mr.  Salter." 

"  Particularly  if  they  have  a  corpse  or  two  to  flavor 
them,"  said  Calvin  Van  de  Lear  in  a  low  tone. 

Mrs.  Knox  Van  de  Lear,  a  fine,  large,  blonde  lady, 
took  the  head  of  the  table.  She  had  a  sweet,  timid 
voice,  quite  out  of  quantity  with  her  bone  and  flesh, 
and  her  eyelashes  seemed  to  be  weak,  for  they  closed  to 
gether  often  and  in  almost  regular  time,  and  the  deli 
cate  lids  were  quite  as  noticeable  as  her  bashful  blue 
eyes. 

"  Lottie,"  said  Rev.  Silas  Van  de  Lear,  "  I  came  in 
to-night  with  a  little  chill  upon  me.  At  my  age  chills 
are  the  tremors  from  other  wings  hovering  near. 
Please  let  me  have  the  first  cup  of  coffee  hot." 

"  Certainly,  papa,"  said  the  hostess,  making  haste 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         221 


to  fill  his  cup.      "  You  don't  at  all  feel  apprehensive, 
do  you  ?" 

"  No,"  said  the  old  man,  with  his  teeth  chattering. 
<:I  haven't  had  apprehensions  for  long  back.  Noth 
ing  but  confidence." 

"  Oh,  pap  !"  put  in  Knox  Van  de  Lear,  "  you'll  be' 
a  preachin'  when  I'm  a  granddaddy.     You  never  mean 
to  die.     Eat  a  waffle  !" 

"  My  children,"  said  the  old  man,  "  death  is  over-due 
with  me.  It  gives  me  no  more  concern  than  the  last 
hour  shall  give  all  of  us.  I  had  hoped  to  live  for 
three  things  :  to  see  my  new  church  raised  ;  to  see  my 
son  Calvin  ready  to  take  my  place  ;  to  see  my  neigh 
bor,  Miss  Wilt,  whom  I  have  seen  grow  up  under  my 
eye  from  childhood,  and  fair  as  a  lily,  brush  the  dew 
of  scandal  from  her  skirts  and  resume  her  place  in  our 
church,  the  handmaid  of  God  again." 

"  Amen,  old  man  !"  spoke  Calvin  irreverently, 
holding  up  his  plate  for  oysters. 

"  Why,  Cal,"  exclaimed  the  hostess,  closing  her 
delicately-tinted  eyelids  till  the  long  lashes  rested  on 
the  cheek,  "  why  don't  you  call  papa  more  softly  ?" 

"  My  son,"  spoke  the  little  old  gentleman  between 
his  chatterings,  "  in  the  priestly  office  you  must  avoid 
abruptness.  Be  direct  at  all  important  times,  but 
neither  familiar  nor  abrupt.  I  cannot  name  for  you  a 
model  of  address  like  Agnes  Wilt." 

"  Isn't  she  beautiful  !"  said  Mrs.  Kncx.  "  Do  you 
think  she  can  be  deceitful,  papa  ?" 

"  I  have  no  means  to  pierce  the  souls  of  people, 
Lottie,  more  than  others.  I  don't  believe  she  is 
wicked,  but  I  draw  that  from  my  reason  and  human 


222         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

faith.  That  woman  was  a  pillar  of  strength  in  my 
Sabbath-school.  May  the  Lord  bring  her  forth  from 
the  furnace  refined  by  fire,  and  punish  them  who  may 
have  persecuted  her  !" 

"  Cal  is  going  into  a  decline  on  her  account,"  said 
Knox.  "  I  know  it  by  seeing  him  eat  waffles.  She 
refused  Cal  one  da}',  and  he  came  home  and  eat  all  the 
cold  meat  in  the  house." 

"  Mr.  Salter,"  the  hostess  said,  raising  her  voice, 
"  you  have  a  beautiful  woman  for  a  landlady.  Is  she 
well  ?" 

"  Very  melancholy,"  said  Duff  Salter.  "  Why  don't 
you  visit  her  ?" 

"  Really,"  said  the  hostess,  "  there  is  so  much  feel 
ing  against  Agnes  that,  considering  Papa  Van  de  Lear's 
position  in  Kensington,  I  have  been  afraid.  Agnes  is 
quite  too  clever  for  me  !" 

"  I  hope  she  will  be,"  said  Duff  Salter,  relapsing  to 
his  coffee. 

"He  didn't  hear  what  you  said,  Lot, "  exclaimed 
Calvin.  "  The  old  man  has  to  guess  at  what  we  halloo 
at  him." 

"  Have  you  appraised  the  estate  of  the  late  William 
Zane  ?"  asked  the  minister,  with  his  bold  pulpit  voice, 
which  Salter  could  hear  easily. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  deaf  guest.  "It  comes  out 
"trong.  It  is  worth,  clear  of  everything  and  not  in- 
luding  doubtful  credits,  one  hundred  and  eighty  thou- 
:.and  dollars." 

"  That  is  the  largest  estate  in  Kensington,"  ex 
claimed  the  clergyman. 

"  I    shall  release  it   all   within   one    week  to  Miss 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         223 

Agnes,"  said  Duff  Salter.  "You  are  too  old,  Mr. 
Van  de  Lear,  to  manage  it.  I  have  finished  my  work 
as  co-executor  with  you.  The  third  executor  is  Miss 
Wilt.  With  the  estate  in  her  hands  she  will  change 
the  tone  of  public  opinion  in  Kensington,  perhaps,  and 
the  fugitive  heir  must  return  or  receive  no  money  from 
the  woman  he  has  injured  !" 

"I  am  entirely  of  your  opinion,"  said  Reverend 
Mr.  Van  de  Lear.  "  Agnes  was  independent  before  ; 
this  will  make  her  powerful,  and  she  needs  all  the 
power  she  can  get  to  meet  this  insensate  suburban 
opinion.  When  I  was  a  young  man,  commencing  to 
minister  here,  I  had  rivals  enough,  and  deeply  sympa 
thize  with  those  who  must  defend  themselves  against 
the  embattled  gossip  of  a  suburban  society." 

Mrs.  Knox  Van  de  Lear  opened  and  closed  her  eyes 
with  a  saintly  sort  of  resignation. 

"  I  am  glad  for  Agnes,"  she  said.  "  But  I  fear  the 
courts  will  not  allow  her,  suspected  as  she  is,  to  have 
the  custody  of  so  much  wealth  that  has  descended  to 
her  through  the  misfortunes  of  others,  if  not  by 
crimes." 

"  You  are  right,  Lot,"  said  Calvin.  "  Her  little 
game  may  be  to  get  a  husband  as  soon  as  she  can,  who 
will  resist  a  trustee's  appointment  by  the  courts." 

"  Can  she  get  a  husband,  Cal  ?" 

"Oh,  yes!  She's  lightning!  There's  old  Salter, 
rich  as  a  Jew.  She's  smart  enough  to  capture  him  and 
add  all  he  has  to  all  that  was  coming  to  Andrew  Zane." 

Mr.  Salter  drew  up  his  napkin  and  sneezed  into  it  a 
soft  articulation  of  "  Jericho  !  Jericho  !" 

"  Cal,  don't  you  think  you  have  some  chance  there 


224         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

yet  ?"  asked  Knox  Van  de  Lear.  "  I  hoped  you  would 
have  won  Aggy  long  ago.  It's  a  better  show  than  I 
ever  had.  You  see  I  have  to  be  at  work  at  six  o'clock, 
winter  and  summer,  and  stay  at  the  bookbindery  all 
day  long,  and  so  it  goes  the  year  round." 

"  Indeed,  it  is  so  !"  exclaimed  the  hostess,  slowly 
shutting  down  her  silken  lids  of  pink.  "  My  poor  hus 
band  goes  away  from  me  while  I  still  sleep  in  the  dark 
of  dawn  ;  he  only  returns  at  supper." 

"Well,  haven't  you  got  brother  Cal  ?"  asked  the 
bookbinder.  "  He's  better  company  than  I  am,  Lot 
tie." 

"But  Calvin  is  in  love  with  Miss  Wilt,"  said  the 
lady,  softly  unclosing  her  eyes. 

"  No,"  coolly  remarked  Calvin,  "I  am  not  in  love 
with  her.  You  know  that,  Lottie." 

"  Well,  Calvin,  dear,  you  would  be  if  you  thought 
she  was  pure  and  clear  of  crime." 

"  Don't  ask  me  foolish  questions  !"  said  Calvin. 

The  lady  at  the  head  of  the  table  wore  a  pretty  smile 
which  she  shut  away  under  her  eyelids  again  and  again, 
and  looked  gently  at  Calvin. 

"  Dear  Agnes  !"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Knox,  "  I  never 
blamed  her  so  much  as  that  bold  little  creature,  Podge 
Byerly  !  No  one  could  make  any  impression  upon 
Agnes's  confidence  until  that  bright  little  thing  went  to 
board  with  her.  It  is  so  demoralizing  to  take  these 
working-girls,  shop-girls  and  school-teachers,  in  where 
religious  influences  had  prevailed  !  They  became  in 
separable  ;  Agnes  had  to  entertain  such  company  rs 
Miss  Byerly  brought  there,  and  it  produced  a  lowering 
of  tone.  She  looked  around  her  suddenly  when  these 


THE   DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.        225 

crimes  were  found  out,  and  all  her  old  mature  friends 
were  gone.  It  is  so  sad  to  lose  all  the  wholesome  in 
fluences  which  protect  one  !" 

Duff  Salter  had  been  eating  his  chicken  and  catfish 
very  gravely,  and  as  he  stopped  to  sneeze  and  apolo 
gize  he  noticed  that  Calvin  Van  de  Lear's  face  was 
insolent  in  its  look  toward  his  brother's  wife. 

"  Wholesome  influence,"  said  Calvin,  "will  return 
at  the  news  of  her  money,  quick  enough  !" 

"  Poor  dear  Cal  !"  exclaimed  the  lady;  "he  is  still 
madly  in  love  '." 

My  friends,"  spoke  up  Duff  Salter,  "  your  father 
•is  a  very  sick  man.  Let  us  take  him  to  a  chamber  and 
send  for  his  doctor." 

Mr.  Van  de  Lear  had  been  neglected  in  this  conver 
sation  ;  it  was  now  seen  that  he  was  in  collapse  and 
deathly  pale.  He  leaned  forward,  however,  from 
strong  habit,  to  close  the  meal  with  a  blessing,  and  his 
head  fell  forward  upon  the  table.  Duff  Salter  had  him 
in  his  arms  in  a  moment,  and  bore  him  into  the  little 
parlor  and  placed  him  on  a  sofa. 

"  Give  me  some  music,  children,"  he  murmured. 
"  Oh,  ray  brother  Salter  !  I  would  that  you  could  hear 
with  me  the  rustling  sounds  I  hear  in  music  now  ! 
There  are  voices  in  it  keeping  heavenly  time,  saying, 
'  Well  done  !  well  done  ! '  My  strong,  kind  brother, 
let  me  lean  upon  your  breast.  Had  we  met  in  younger 
days  1  feel  that  we  would  have  been  very  friendly  with 
each  other." 

Duff  Salter  already  had  the.  meagre  little  man  upon 
his  breast,  and  his  long,  hale  beard  descended  upon  the 
pale  and  aged  face. 


226         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

Mrs.  Knox  Van  de  Lear  seated  herself  at  the  piano 
and  began  a  hymn,  and  Calvin  Van  de  Lear  accompanied 
her,  singing  bass.  The  old  man  closed  his  eyes  on 
Duff  Sailer's  breast,  and  Mr.  Knox  Van  de  Lear  went 
out  softly  to  send  for  a  physician.  Duff  Sailer,  look 
ing  up  at  a  catch  in  the  singing,  saw  that  Calvin  Van 
de  Lear  was  leaning  familiarly  on  the  lady's  shoulder 
while  he  turned  the  leaves  of  the  book  of  sacred 
music. 

"I  am  very  sick,"  said  the  old  clergyman,  still 
shaken  by  the  chills.  "  Perhaps  we  shall  meet  together 
no  more.  My  fellow-executor,  do  my  part  in  this 
world  !  In  all  my  life  of  serving  the  church  and  its 
Divine  Master,  I  have  first  looked  out  for  the  young 
people.  They  are  most  helpless,  most  valuable.  See 
that  Sister  Agnes  is  mercifully  cared  for  !  If  young 
Andrew  Zane  returns,  deal  gently  with  him  too.  Let 
us  be  kind  to  the  dear  boys,  though  they  go  astray. 
The  dear,  dear  boys  !" 

Duff  Salter  received  the  brave  little  man's  head  again 
upon  his  breast,  and  said  to  himself  : 

"  May  God  speedily  take  him  away  in  mercy  !" 

The  doctor,  returning  with  Knox  Van  de  Lear,  com 
manded  the  minister  to  be  instantly  removed  to  a 
chamber,  and  Duff  Salter,  unassisted,  walked  up-stairs 
with  him  like  a  father  carrying  his  infant  to  bed.  As 
they  placed  the  wasted  figure  away  beneath  the  cover 
lets,  he  put  his  arm  around  Duff  Sailer's  neck. 

"  Brother,"  he  said  hoarsely,  the  chill  having  him 
in  its  grasp,  "  God  has  blessed  you.  Can  you  help  my 
new  church  ?" 

"  I  promise  you,"  said  Duff  Salter,  "  that  after  your 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON".         227 

people  have  done  their  best  I  will  give  the  remainder. 
It  shall  be  built  !" 

"  Now,  God  be  praised  !"  whispered  the  dying  pas 
tor.  "  And  let  Thy  servant  depart  in  peace." 

"  Amen  !"  from  somewhere,  trembled  through  th( 
chamber  as  Duff  Salter,  his  feet  muffled  like  his  voice, 
in  the  habit  of  mute  people  who  walk  as  they  hear, 
passed  down  the  stairway. 

Duff  Salter  took  his  seat  in  the  dining-room,  which 
was  an  extension  of  Knox  Van  de  Lear's  plain  parlor, 
and  buried  his  face  in  his  palms.  Years  ago,  when  a 
boy,  he  had  attended  preaching  in  Silas  Van  de  Lear's 
little  chapel,  and  it  touched  him  deeply  that  the 
nestor  of  the  suburb  was  about  to  die  ;  the  last  of  the 
staunch  old  pastors  of  the  kirk  who  had  never  been 
silent  when  liberty  was  in  peril.  The  times  were  not 
the  same,  and  the  old  man  was  too  brave  and  simple 
for  the  latter  half  of  his  century.  As  Duff  Salter 
thought  of  many  memories  associated  with  the  Rev. 
Silas  Van  de  Lear's  residence  in  Kensington,  he  heard 
his  own  name  mentioned.  It  was  a  lady's  voice  ; 
nothing  but  acute  sensibility  could  have  made  it  so 
plain  to  a  deaf  man  : 

"  Husband,"  said  the  lady  with  the  slumberous 
eyelids,  "  go  out  with  the  pitcher  and  get  us  half  a 
gallon  of  ale.  Cal  and  Mr.  Salter  and  myself  are 
thirsty." 

"  I  have  been  for  the  doctor,  Lottie  ;  let  Cal  go." 

"  Cal  ?"  exclaimed  the  lady,  very  quietly  raising  her 
lashes.  "  It  would  not  do  for  him  to  go  for  ale  !  He 
is  to  be  the  junior  pastor,  my  dear,  aii  soon  as  papa  is 
buried,  over  the  Van  de  Lear  church/' 


228         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

"  All  right,"  said  the  tired  husband,  "  I'll  go.  We 
must  all  back  up  Cal." 

As  soon  as  the  door  closed  upon  Mr.  Knox  Van  de 
Lear,  a  kiss  resounded  through  the  little  house,  and  a 
woman's  voice  followed  it,  saying  : 

"  Imprudent  !" 

«'  Oh,  bah  !"  spoke  Calvin  Van  de  Lear.  "  Salter 
is  deaf  as  a  post.  Lottie,  Agnes  Wilt  has  been 
ruined  !" 

In  the  long  pause  following  this  remark  the  deaf 
man  peeped  through  his  fingers  and  saw  the  lady  of  the 
house  kiss  her  husband's  brother  again  and  again. 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  she  whispered.    "  Can  it  be  true  ?" 

"  It's  plain  as  a  barn  door.  She'll  be  a  mother 
before  shad  have  run  out,  or  cherries  come  in." 

"  The  proud  creature  !  And  now,  Cal  dear,  you 
see  nothing  exceptionally  siint-like  there  ?" 

"  I  see  shame,  friendlessness,  wealth,  and  welcome," 
spoke  the  young  man.  "  It's  just  my  luck  !" 

"  But  the  deaf  man  ?     Will  he  not  take  her  part  ?" 

"  No.  I  shall  show  him  to-night  what  will  cure  his 
partiality.  Lottie,  you  must  let  me  marry  her." 

The  large,  blonde  lady  threw  back  her  head  until  the 
strong,  animal  throat  and  chin  stood  sharply  defined, 
and  white  and  scarlet  in  color  as  the  lobster's  meat. 

"  Scoundrel  !"  she  hissed,  clenching  Calvin's  wrist 
with  an  almost  maniacal  fury. 

At  this  moment  a  bell  began  to  toll  en  the  neighbor 
ing  fire  company's  house,  and  Knox  Van  de  Lear  en 
tered  with  the  pitcher  of  ale. 

"  They're  tolling  the  fire  bell  at  the  news  of  father's 
dying,"  said  Knox. 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         229 

Calvin  filled  a  glass  of  ale,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  Here's  to  the  next  pastor  of  Kensington  !"  as  he 
laughingly  drained  it  off. 

"  Oh,  brother  Cal  !"  remarked  the  hostess  as  she 
softly  dropped  her  eyelids  and  smiled  reprovingly  ; 
"  this  irreverence  comes  of  visiting  Miss  Agnes  Wilt 
too  often.  I  must  take  you  in  charge." 

Duff  Salter  gave  a  furious  sneeze  : 

"  Jericho  !     Oh  i  oh  !  Jericho  !" 

Calvin  Van  de  Lear  closed  the  door  between  the  din 
ing-room  and  the  parlor,  and  drew  Duff  Salter's  tablets 
from  his  pocket  and  wrote  : 

"  I  want  you  to  go  up  on  the  house  roof  with  me." 

Duff  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  and  wrote  in  reply  : 

"  Do  you  mean  to  throw  me  off  ?" 

Calvin's  sallow  complexion  reddened  a  very  little  as 
he  laughed  flippantly,  and  stroked  his  dry  side-whiskers 
and  took  the  tablets  again  : 

"I  want  you  to  see  the  ghost's  walk,"  he  wrote. 
"  Come  along  !" 

Passing  the  sick  father's  door,  Calvin  led  Duff  Salter 
up  to  the  garret  floor,  where  a  room  with  rag  carpet, 
dumb-bells,  boxing-gloves,  theological  books,  and  some 
pictures  far  from  modest,  disclosed  the  varied  tastes  of 
an  entailed  pulpit's  expectant.  Calvin  drew  down  the 
.curtain  of  the  one  window  and  lighted  a  lamp.  There 
was  a  table  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  there  the 
two  men  conducted  a  silent  conversation  on  the  ivory 
tablets. 

"  This  is  my  room,"  wrote  Calvin.  "  I  stay  here 
all  day  when  I  study  or  enjoy  myself.  The  governor 


230         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

doesn't  come   in  here   to  give  me  any  advice  or  nose 
around." 

"  Is  Mrs.  Knox  Van  de  Lear  serious  as  to  religious 
matters  ?" 

"  Very,"  wrote  Calvin,  sententiously,  and  looked  at 
Duff  Salter  with  the  most  open  countenance  he  had 
ever  been  seen  to  show.  Duff  merely  asked  another 
question  : 

"  Has  she  a  good  handwriting?  I  want  to  have  a 
small  document  very  neatly  written." 

Calvin  went  over  to  a  trunk,  unlocked  it,  and  took 
out  a  bundle  of  what  appeared  to  be  lady's  letters,  and 
selecting  one,  folded  the  address  back  and  showed  the 
chirography. 

'  Jericho  !  Jerry-cho  !  cho  !  O  cho  !"  sneezed  Duff 
Salter.  "  The  most  admirable  writing  I  have  ever 
seen." 

Calvin  took  the  tablets. 

"  I  have  been  in  receipt  of  some  sundry  sums  of 
money  from  you,  Salter,  to  follow  up  this  Zane  mys 
tery.  I  hope  to  be  able  to  show  you  to-night  that  it 
has  not  been  misinvested." 

"  You  have  had  two  hundred  dollars, "  wrote  Duff 
Salter.  "  What  are  your  conclusions  ?" 

"  Andrew  Zane  is  in  Kensington." 

"  Where?" 

"  If  the  block  opposite  are  several  houses  belonging 
to  the  Zane  estate.  One  of  them  stood  empty  until 
within  a  month,  when  a  tenant  unknown  to  the  neigh 
borhood,  with  small  furniture  and  effects — evidently  a 
mere  servant — moved  in.  My  brother's  wife  has  taken 
a  deep  interest  in  the  Zane  murder,  and  being  at  home 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         231 

all  day,  her  resort  is  this  room,  where  she  can  see,  un 
observed,  the  whole  menage  and  movement  in  the  block 
opposite." 

"  Why  did  she  feel  so  much  interested  ?" 

"  Honor  bright  !"  Calvin  wrote.  "  Well,  Mrs.  Knox 
was  a  great  admirer  of  the  late  William  Zane.  They 
were  very  intimate — some  thought  under  engagement 
to  marry.  Suddenly  she  accepted  my  brother,  and  old 
Zane  turned  out  to  be  infatuated  with  his  ward.  We 
may  call  it  rivalry  and  reminiscence." 

"  Jer-i-choo-wo  !" 

Duff  Salter,  now  full  of  smiles,  proffered  a  pinch  of 
snuff  to  his  host,  who  declined  it,  but  set  out  a  bottle 
of  brandy  in  reciprocal  friendship. 

"  Go  on,"  indicated  Salter  to  the  tablets. 

"  One  morning,  just  before  daybreak,  my  brother's 
wife,  glancing  out  of  this  window — ' 

"In  this  room,  you  say,  before  daybreak  ?" 

Calvin  looked  viciously  at  Duff  Salter,  who  merely 
smiled. 

"  She  saw,"  said  Calvin  Van  de  Lear,  "  an  object 
come  out  of  the  trap-door  on  Zane's  old  residence  and 
move  under  shelter  of  the  ridge  of  thereof  to  the  newly- 
tenanted  dwelling  in  the  same  block,  and  there  disap 
pear  down  the  similar  trap." 

"  Jericho  !  Jericho  ! — Proceed." 

"  It  was  our  inference  that  probably  Andrew  Zane 
was  making  stealthy  visits  to  Agnes,  and  we  applied  a 
test  to  her.  To  our  astonishment  we  found  she  had 
only  seen  him  once  since  the  murder,  and  that  was  the 
night  the  bodies  were  discovered." 

"  How  could  you  extract  that  from  a  self-contained 


232          THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

woman  like  Agnes  Wilt  ?"  asked  Duff  Salter,  deeply  in 
terested. 

"  We  got  it  from  Podge  Byerly. " 

"  Jerusalem  !"  exclaimed  Duff  Salter  aloud,  knock 
ing  over  the  snuff-box  and  forgetting  to  sneeze.  "  Mr. 
Calvin  Van  de  Lear,  it  is  a  damned  lie." 

Calvin  looked  up  with  some  surprise  but  more  con 
ceit 

"  I'm  a  first-class  eavesdropper,"  he  wrote,  and 
held  it  up  on  the  tablet  to  Duff's  eyes.  "  We  got  the 
fact  from  Podge's  bed-ridden  brother,  a  scamp  who 
destroyed  his  health  by  excesses  and  came  back  on 
Podge  for  support.  Knowing  how  corruptible  he  was, 
I  got  access  to  him  and  paid  him  out  of  your  funds  to 
wheedle  out  of  Podge  all  that  Lady  Agnes  told  her. 
She  had  no  idea  that  her  brother  communicated  with 
any  person,  as  he  was  unable  to  walk,  and  she  told  him 
for  his  amusement  secrets  she  never  dreamed  could  go 
out  of  the  house.  We  corresponded  with  him  by  mail. ' ' 

"  Calvin,"  wrote  Duff  Salter,  "you  never  thought 
of  these  things  yourself." 

'  To  give  the  devil  his   credit,  my  brother's  wife 
suggested  that  device." 

"  Jericho-o-o-o-h  !" 

Duff  Salter  was  himself  again. 

"  Well,  Salter,"  continued  the  heir-apparent  of  Ken 
sington,  "  we  laid  our  heads  together,  and  the  mys 
tery  continued  to  deepen  why  Andrew  Zane  infested 
the  residence  of  his  murdered  father  if  he  never  re 
vealed  himself  to  the  woman  he  had  loved.  Not  until 
the  discovery  that  Agnes  Wilt  had  been  ruined  could 
we  make  that  out." 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         233 

They  were  both  looking  at  each  other  intently  aa 
Duff  Salter  read  the  last  sentence. 

"  It  then  became  plain  to  us,"  continued  Calvin, 
"  that  Andrew  Zane  wanted  to  abandon  the  woman 
he  had  seduced,  as  was  perfectly  natural.  He  haunt 
ed  and  alarmed  the  house  and  kept  informed  on  all  its 
happenings,  but  cut  poor  Agnes  dead." 

'  The  infamous  scoundrel  !"  exclaimed  Duff  Salter, 
looking  very  dark  and  serious. 

Now,  Salter,"  continued  Calvin,  "  we  had  a  watch 
set  on  that  ridge  of  roofs  every  night,  and  another  one 
at  the  old  Zane  house,  front  and  rear,  and  the  appari 
tion  on  the  roof  was  so  irregular  that  we  could  not  un 
derstand  what  occasions  it  took  to  come  out  until  we 
observed  that  whenever  your  servant  was  out  of  the 
neighborhood  a  whole  night,  the  roof-walker  was  sure 
to  descend  into  Zane's  trap." 
'  Jer-i-cho-ho-ho  !" 

"  To-night,  as  we  have  made  ourselves  aware,  your 
servant  is  not  in  Kensington.  We  saw  him  off  to 
Treaty  Island.  I  am  watching  at  this  window  for  the 
man  on  the  roof.  The  moment  he  leaves  the  trap 
door  of  the  tenant's  house,  it  will  be  entered  by  of. 
ficers  at  the  waving  of  this  lamp  at  my  window.  One 
officer  will  proceed  along  the  roof  and  station  himself 
on  the  Zane  trap,  closing  that  outlet.  At  the  same 
time  the  Zane  house  will  be  entered  front  and  rear 
and  searched.  The  time  is  due.  It  is  midnight. 
Come  !" 

Calvin  pointed  to  a  ladder  that  led  from  the  corner 
of  his  study  to  the  roof,  and  Duff  Salter  nodded  his 
head  acquiescently. 


234         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

They  went  up  the  ladder  and  thrust  their  heads  into 
the  soft  night  of  early  summer. 

There  was  starlight,  but  no  moon. 

The  engine  bell  just  ceased  to  toll  as  they  looked 
forth  on  the  scattered  suburb,  and  at  points  beheld  the 
Delaware  flowing  darkly,  indicated  by  occasional  lights 
of  vessels  reflected  upward,  and  by  the  very  distant 
lamps  on  the  Camden  shore. 

Most  of  the  houses  within  the  range  of  vision  were 
small,  patched,  and  irregular,  except  where  the  black 
walls  of  the  even  blocks  on  some  principal  streets 
strode  through. 

Scarcely  a  sound,  except  the  tree  frogs  droning,  dis 
turbed  the  air,  and  Kensington  basked  in  the  midnight 
like  some  sleeping  village  of  the  plains,  stretching  out 
to  the  fields  of  cattle  and  the  savory  truck  farms. 

Duff  Salter  mentally  exclaimed  • 

"  Here,  like  two  angels  of  good  or  evil,  we  spy 
upon  the  dull  old  hamlet,  where  nothing  greater  has 
happened  than  to-night  since  the  Indians  bartered 
their  lands  away  for  things  of  immediate  enjoyment. 
Are  not  most  of  these  people  Indians  still,  ready  to 
trade  away  substantial  lands  of  antique  title  for  the 
playthings  of  a  few  brief  hours  ?  Yes,  heaven  itself 
was  signed  away  by  man  and  woman  for  the  juices  of 
one  forbidden  fruit.  Here,  where  the  good  old  pastor, 
like  another  William  Penn,  is  running  his  stakes  be 
yond  the  stars  and  peopling  with  angels  his  possessions 
there,  the  savage  children  are  occupied  with  the  trifles 
of  lust,  covetousness,  and  deceit.  They  are  no  worse 
than  the  sons  of  Penn,  who  became  apostates  to  his 
charity  and  religion  before  the  breath  had  left  his 


THE  DEAF  MAN   OF  K'E.VSINGTON.          235 

body.     So   goes   the  human  race,  whether  around  the 
Tree  of  Knowledge  or  Kensington's  Treaty  Tree." 

Duff  Salter  felt  his  arm  pulled  violently,  and  heard 
his  companion  whisper, 

"  There  !     Do  you  see  it  ?" 

Across  the  street,  only  a  few  hundred  feet  distant, 
an  object  emerged  from  the  black  mass  of  the  buildings 
and  moved  rapidly  along  the  opposite  ridge  of  houses 
against  the  sky,  drawing  nearer  the  two  watchers  as  it 
advanced,  and  passing  right  opposite. 

Duff  Salter  made  it  out  to  be  a  woman  or  a  figure  in 
a  gown. 

It  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  left,  and  did  not 
stoop  nor  cower,  but  strode  boldly  as  if  with  right  to 
the  large  residence  of  the  Zanes,  where  in  a  minute  it 
faded  away. 

Duff  Salter  felt  a  little  superstitious,  but  Calvin  Van 
de  Lear  shot  past  him  down  the  ladder. 

Duff  heard  the  curtain  at  the  window  thrown  up  as 
the  divinity  student  flashed  his  lamp  and  saw  the  door 
of  the  house  whence  the  apparition  had  come,  forced 
by  the  police. 

As  he  descended  the  ladder  Calvin  Van  de  Lear  ex 
tended  Duff's  hat  to  him,  and  pointed  across  the  way. 

They  were  not  very  prompt  reaching  the  door  of  the 
Zane  residence,  but  were  still  there  in  time  to  employ 
Duff  Sailer's  key,  instead  of  violence,  to  make  the 
entry. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  deaf  man,  with  authority, 
"  there  is  no  occasion  of  any  of  you  pressing  in  here  to 
alarm  a  lady.  Mr.  Van  de  Lear  and  myself  will  make 
the  search  of  the  house  which  you  have  already  guard- 


236         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 


ed,  front,  back,  and  above,  and  rendered  it  impossible 
for  the  object  of  your  warrant  to  escape." 

The  dignity  and  commanding  stature  of  Duff  Salter 
had  their  effect. 

Calvin  Van  de  Lear  and  Duff  Salter  entered  the  silent 
house,  lighted  the  gas,  and  walked  from  room  to  room, 
finally  entering  the  apartment  of  Duff  Salter  himself. 

There  sat  Mike,  the  serving-man,  in  his  red  hair, 
uneven  eyebrows,  crutch,  and  wooden  leg,  as  quietly 
arranging  the  models  of  vessels  and  steamers  as  if  he 
had  not  anticipated  a  midnight  call  nor  ceased  his  labor 
since  Duff  Salter  had  gone  out. 

"  Damnation!"  exclaimed  Calvin  Van  de  Lear,  pale 
with  exertion  and  rage,  "  are  you  here?  I  thought  you 
were  at  Treaty  Island." 

"  Misther  Salter,"  said  the  Irishman,  "  I  returned, 
do  you  see,  because  I  forgot  something  and  wanthed  a 
drop  of  your  brandy,  sur. " 

Duff  Salter  walked  up  to  the  speaker  and  seized  him 
by  the  lapels  of  his  coat,  and  placing  the  other  hand 
upon  his  head,  tore  oft  the  entire  red-haired  scalp 
which  covered  him. 

"Andrew  Zane,"  said  Duff  Salter  in  a  low  voice, 
"  your  disguise  is  detected.  Yield  yourself  like  a  man 
to  your  father's  executor.  You  are  my  prisoner  !" 

CHAPTER  IX. 

IN     COURT. 

AGNES  WILT  awoke  and  said  her  prayers,  unconscious 
of  any  event  of  the  night.  At  the  breakfast-table  she 
met  Duff  Salter,  who  took  both  her  hands  in  his. 


THE  DEAF  MAX  OF  KENSINGTON.         237 

"Agnes, "said  Duff  Salter — '"let  me  call  you  so 
hereafter — did  you  hear  the  bell  toll  last  night  ?" 

"  No,"  she  replied  with  agitation.  "  For  what,  Mr. 
Salter?" 

'  The  good  priest  of  Kensington  is  dying." 

"  Beloved  friend  !"  she  said,  as  the  tears  came  to 
her  eyes.  "  And  must  he  die  uncertain  of  my  blame 
or  innocence  ?  Yet  he  will  learn  it  in  that  wiser 
world  !" 

"  Agnes,  I  require  perfect  submission  from  you  for 
this  day.  Will  you  give  it  in  all  things  ?" 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment  in  earnest  reflection, 
and  said  finally  : 

"  Yes,  unless  my  conscience  says  '  no.' 

"  Nothing  will  be  asked  of  you  that  you  cannot 
rightfully  do.  Decision  is  what  is  needed  now,  and  I 
will  bring  you  through  triumphantly  if  you  will  obey 
me." 

"I  will." 

"  At  eleven  o'clock  we  must  go  to  the  magistrate's 
office.  I  will  walk  there  with  you." 

"  Am  I  to  be  arrested  ?"  she  asked,  hesitating. 

"  If  you  go  with  me  it  will  not  be  an  arrest." 

"  Mr.  Salter,"  she  cried,  in  a  burst  of  anguish,  "  I 
am  not  fit  to  be  seen  upon  the  streets  of  Kensington." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  like  a  daughter. 

"  Yes,  yes,  poor  girl  !  The  mother  of  God  braved 
no  less.  You  can  bear  it.  But  all  this  morning  I 
must  be  closely  engaged.  An  important  event  hap 
pened  last  night.  At  eleven,  positively,  be  ready  to 
go  out  with  me." 

Agnes  was  ready,  and  stepped  forth  into  the  daylight 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KEXSIXGTOX. 


on  the  main  thoroughfare  of  Queen  Street.  Almost 
every  window  was  filled  with  gazers  ;  the  sidewalks 
were  lined  with  strollers,  loiterers,  and  people  waiting. 
She  might  have  fainted  if  Duff  Salter's  arm  had  not 
been  there  to  sustain  her. 

A  large  fishwife,  with  a  basket  on  her  head,  was 
standing  beside  her  comely  grown  daughter,  who  had 
put  her  large  basket  down,  and  both  devoured  Agnes 
with  their  eyes. 

"  Staying  in  the  house,  Beck,"  exclaimed  the  mother 
of  the  girl,  "  has  been  healthy  for  some  people." 

"  Yes,  mammy, "  answered  the  girl  ;  "it's  safer 
standing  in  market  with  catfish.  He  !  he  !  he  !" 

A  shipbuilder's  daughter  was  on  the  front  steps,  a 
slender  girl  of  dark,  smooth  skin  and  features,  talking 
to  a  grown  boy.  The  girl  bowed  :  "  How  do  you  do, 
Miss  Agnes  ?"  The  grown  boy  giggled  inanely. 

Two  old  women,  near  neighbors  of  Agnes,  had  their 
spectacles  wiped  and  run  out  to  a  proper  focus,  and 
the  older  of  the  two  had  a  double  pair  upon  her  most 
insidious  and  suspicious  nose.  As  Agnes  passed,  this 
old  lady  gave  such  a  start  that  she  dropped  the  specta 
cles  off  her  nose,  and  ejaculated  through  the  open 
window,  "  Lord  alive  !" 

At  Knox  Van  de  Lear's  house  the  fine-bodied,  feline 
lady  with  nictitating  eyes,  drew  aside  the  curtain, 
even  while  the  dying  man  above  was  in  frigid  waters, 
that  she  might  slowly  raise  and  drop  her  ambrosial  lids, 
and  express  a  refined  but  not  less  marked  surprise. 
Agnes,  by  an  excitement  of  the  nerves  of  apprehension, 
saw  everything  while  she  trembled.  She  could  read 
the  dates  of  all  the  houses  on  the  painted  cornices  of 


THE  DEAf  MAX  OF  K'EXSINGTON.         239 

the  water-spouts,  and  saw  the  cabalistic  devices  of  old 
insurance  companies  on  the  property  they  covered. 
Pigeons  flying  about  the  low  roofs  clucked  and 
chuckled  as  if  their  milky  purity  had  been  incensed, 
and  little  dogs  seemed  to  draw  near  and  trot  after,  too 
'amiliarly,  as  if  they  scented  sin. 

There  were  two  working-men  from  Zane  &  Rainey's 
shipyard  who  had  known  kindness  to  their  wives  from 
Agnes  when  those  wives  were  in  confinement.  Both 
took  off  their  hats  respectfully,  but  with  astonishment 
overwhelming  their  pity. 

Half  the  fire  company  had  congregated  at  one  corner 
of  the  street — lean,  runners  of  men  in  red  shirts,  and 
with  boots  outside  their  trousers.  They  did  not  say  a 
word,  but  gazed  as  at  a  riddle  going  by.  Yet  at  one 
place  a  Sabbath  scholar  of  Agnes  came  out  before 
her,  and,  making  a  courtesy,  said  : 

'  Teacher,  take  my  orange  blossom  !" 

The  flower  was  nearly  white,  and  very  fragrant. 
Duff  Salter  reached  out  and  put  it  in  his  button-hole. 

So  excited  were  the  sensibilities  of  Agnes  that  it 
seemed  to  her  the  old  door-knockers  squinted  ;  the 
idle  writing  of  boys  on  dead  walls  read  with  a  hidden 
meaning  ;  the  shade-trees  lazily  shaking  in  summer 
seemed  to  whisper  ;  if  she  looked  down,  there  now  and 
then  appeared,  moulded  in  the  bricks  of  the  pavement, 
a  worn  letter,  or  a  passing  goose  foot,  the  accident  of 
the  brickyard,  but  now  become  personal  and  inten 
tional.  The  little  babies,  sporting  in  their  carriages 
before  some  houses,  leaned  forward  and  looked  as  wise 
and  awful  as  doctors  in  some  occult  diagnosis.  Cart 
wheels,  as  they  struck  hard,  articulated,  "  What,  out  ! 


240         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

Boo  !  boohoo  !"  Sunshine  all  slanted  her  way.  Huck 
sters'  cries  sounded  like  constables'  proclamation  : 
"  Oyez  !  oyez  !" 

With  the  perceptions,  the  reflections  of  Agnes  were 
also  startlingly  alert.  She  seemed  two  or  three  un 
fortunate  people  at  once.  Now  it  was  Lady  Jane 
Grey  going  to  the  tower.  Now  it  was  Beatrice  Cenci 
going  to  torture.  Now  it  was  Mary  Magdalene  going 
to  the  cross.  At  almost  every  house  she  felt  a  kind 
ness  speak  for  her,  except  mankind  ;  a  recollection  of 
nursing,  comforting,  praying  with  some  one,  but  all 
forgotten  now.  "  Via  Crucia^  Via  Crucia,"  her  thorn- 
torn  feet  seemed  to  patter  in  the  echoes  of  her  ears  and 
mind,  and  there  arose  upon  her  spirit  the  sternest  curse 
of  women,  direful  with  God's  own  rage,  "  I  will 
greatly  multiply  thy  sorrow  and  thy  conception." 

Thus  she  reached  the  magistrate's  little  office,  around 
the  door  of  which  was  a  little  crowd  of  people, 
and  Duff  Salter  led  her  in  the  private  door  to  the  resi 
dence  itself.  A  cup  of  tea  and  a  decanter  of  wine  were 
on  the  table.  The  magistrate's  wife  knew  her,  and 
kissed  her.  Then  Agnes  broke  down  and  wept  like  a 
little  child. 

The  magistrate  was  a  lame  man,  and  a  deacon  in 
Van  de  Lear's  church,  quite  gray,  and  both  prudent 
and  austere,  and  making  use  of  but  few  words,  so  that 
there  was  no  way  of  determining  his  feelings  on  the 
case.  He  took  his  place  behind  a  plain  table  and 
opened  court  by  saying, 

"  Who  appears  ?     Now  !" 

Duff  Salter  rose,  the  largest  man  in  the  court-room. 
His  long  beard  covered  his  whole  breast-bone  ;  his  fine 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         241 

intelligent  features,  clear,  sober  eyes,  and  hale,  house- 
bleached  skin,  bore  out  the  authority  conceded  to  him 
in  Kensington  as  a  rich  gentleman  of  the  world. 

"  Mr.  Magistrate,"  said  Duff  Salter,  "  this  exami 
nation  concerns  the  public  and  the  ends  of  justice  only 
as  bears  upon  the  death  of  the  late  citizens  of  Kensing 
ton,  William  Zane  and  Saylor  Rainey.  It  is  apre- 
liminary  examination  only,  and  the  person  suspected 
by  public  gossip  has  not  retained  counsel.  With  your 
permission,  as  the  executor  of  William  Zane,  I  will 
conduct  such  part  of  the  inquiry  here  as  my  duty 
toward  the  deceased,  and  my  knowledge  of  the  evi 
dence,  notwithstanding  my  frontier  notions  of  law, 
suggest  to  me." 

''You  prosecute?"  asked  the  magistrate,  and 
added,  "  Yes,  yes  !  I  will  !" 

Calvin  Van  de  Lear  got  up  and  bowed  to  the  magis 
trate. 

"  Your  Honor,  my  deep  interest  in  Miss  Agnes  Wilt 
has  driven  me  to  leave  the  bedside  of  a  dying  parent 
to  see  that  her  interests  are  properly  attended  to  in  this 
case.  Whenever  she  is  concerned  I  am  for  the  de 
fence.  ' ' 

"  Yes  !"  exclaimed  the  magistrate.  "  Salter,  have 
you  a  witness  ?" 

"  Mike  Donovan  !"  called  Duff  Salter. 

A  red-haired  Irishman,  with  one  eyebrow  higher 
than  the  other,  and  scars  on  his  face,  walked  into  the 
alderman's  court  from  the  private  room,  and  was 
sworn. 

"  Donovan,"  spoke  Duff  Salter,  standing  up,  "  re 
late  the  occurrences  of  a  certain  night  when  you  rowed 


242          THE  DEAF  MAN   OF  K EX  SING  TON. 

the  prisoner,  Andrew  Zane,  and  certain  other  persons, 
from  Treaty  Island  to  an  uncertain  point  in  the  River 
Delaware." 

"  Stop  !  stop  !"  exclaimed  Calvin  Van  de  Lear,  ris 
ing.  "  It  seems  to  me  I  have  seen  that  fellow's  face 
before.  Donovan,  hadn't  you  a  wooden  leg  when  last 
I  saw  you  ?" 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  answered  the  Irishman. 

"  Why  haven't  you  got  it  on  now?"  cried  Calvin, 
scowling. 

"  Because,  yer  riverence,  me  own  legs  was  plenty 
good  enough  on  this  occasion." 

"  Now,  now,  I  won't  !"  ordered  the  sententious  lit 
tle  magistrate. 

"Proceed  with  the  narrative,"  cried  Duff  Salter, 
"  and  repeat  no  part  of  the  conversation  in  that 
boat." 

"  It  was  a  dark  and  lowering  night,"  said  the  water 
man,  "  as  we  swung  loose  from  Traity  Isle.  I  sat  a 
little  forward  of  the  cintre,  managing  the  oars.  Mr. 
Andrew  Zane  was  in  the  bow,  on  the  watch  for  difficul 
ties.  In  the  stern  sat  the  boss,  Mr.  William  Zane. 
Between  him  and  me — God's  rest  to  him  ! — sat  the 
murdered  gintleman,  well-beloved  Saylor  Rainey  ! 
The  tide  was  running  six  miles  an  hour.  We  steered 
by  the  lights  of  Kinsington." 

"  Then  you  are  confident,"  said  Duff  Salter,  "  that 
the  whole  length  of  the  skiff  separated  William  Zane 
from  his  son  ?" 

"  As  confident,  yer  honor,  as  that  the  batteau  had 
two  inds.  They  niver  were  nearer,  the  one  to  the 
tother,  than  that,  for  the  whole  of  the  ixpidition.  And 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         243 

scarcely  one  word  did  Mr.  Andrew  utter  on  the  whole 
ov  that  bloody  passage." 

"  Say  nothing,  for  the  present,  about  any  conversa 
tions,"  commanded  Duff  Salter,  "  but  go  on  with  the 
occurrences  briefly." 

"  I  had  been  a  very  little  while,  ye  must  understand 
me,  gintlemen,  in  the  imploy  of  thim  two  partners. 
After  they  entered  the  boat  they  spoke  nothing  at  all, 
at  all,  for  siveral  minutes.  It  was  all  I  could  do  wid 
the  strong  tide  to  keep  the  boat  pinted  for  Kinsington, 
and  I  only  noticed  that  Mr.  Rainey  comminced  the 
conversation  in  a  low  tone  of  voice.  Just  at  that  time, 
or  soon  afterward,  your  Honor,  a  large  vessel  stood 
across  our  bow,  going  down  stream  in  the  night,  and  I 
put  on  all  my  strength,  at  Mr.  William  Zane's  order,  to 
cross  in  front  of  her,  and  did  so.  I  was  so  afraid  the 
ship  would  take  us  under  that  I  put  my  whole  attintion 
to  my  task,  not  daring  to  disobey  so  positive  a  boss  as 
Mr.  Zane,  though  it  was  agin  my  judgment,  indade. " 

All  in  the  court  and  outside  the  door  and  windows 
were  giving  strict  attention.  Even  Andrew  Zane, 
whose  face  had  been  rather  sullen,  listened  with  a  pale 
spot  on  his  cheeks. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Duff  Salter  gently.  "You  relate 
it  very  well." 

"  As  we  had  cleared  the  ship,  gintlemen,  I  paused 
an  instant  to  wipe  the  sweat  from  my  brows,  though  it 
was  a  cold  night,  for  I  was  quite  spint.  I  then  per 
ceived  that  Mr.  Rainey  and  the  master  were  disputing 
and  raising  their  voices  higher  and  higher,  and  what 
surprised  me  most  of  all.  your  Honor,  was  the  unusual 
firmness  of  Mr.  Rainey,  who  was  ginerally  very  obedi- 


241-         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

ent  to  the  boss.  He  faced  the  boss,  and  would  not 
take  his  orders,  and  I  heard  him  once  exclaim  : 
'  Shame  on  you,  sir  ;  he  is  your  son  !'  ' 

"  Stop  !  stop  !"  cried  Duff  Salter.  "  You  were  not 
to  repeat  conversations  What  next  ?" 

"  In  the  twinklin'  of  an  eye,"  resumed  the  witness, 
"  the  masther  had  sazed  his  partner  by  the  throat  and 
called  him  a  villain.  They  both  stood  up  in  the  boat, 
the  masther's  hand  still  in  Mr.  Rainey's  collar,  and 
for  an  instant  Mr.  Rainey  shook  himself  loose  and 
cried — " 

"  Not  a  word  !"  exclaimed  Duff  Salter.  "  What 
was  done  f 

"  Mr.  Rainey  cried  out  something,  all  at  once.  The 
masther  fetched  a  terrible  oath  and  fell  back  upon  his 
seat.  '  You  assisted  in  this  villainy  !  '  he  shouted. 
They  clinched,  and  I  saw  something  shine  dimly  in 
Mr.  William  Zane's  hand.  The  report  told  me  what  it 
was.  I  lifted  one  oar  in  a  feeling  of  horror,  and  the 
boat  swung  round  abruptly  on  the  blade  of  the  other, 
and  Mr.  Rainey,  released  from  the  masther's  grip,  fell 
overboard  in  the  dark  night." 

Nothing  was  said  by  any  person  in  the  court  except 
a  suppressed  "  Bah  !"  from  Calvin  Van  de  Lear. 

"  Silence  !  Order  !  I  won't  !"  exclaimed  the  lame 
magistrate,  rising  from  his  seat.  "  Now  !  Go  on  !" 

"  I  dropped  both  oars  in  me  terror,  and  one  of  them 
floated  away  in  the  dark.  We  all  stood  up  in  the  boat. 
'  My  God  !  '  exclaimed  the  masther,  '  what  have  I 
done  ? '  As  quick  as  the  beating  of  my  heart  he  placed 
the  pistol  at  his  own  head.  I  saw  the  flash  and  heard 
the  report.  Mr.  William  Zane  fell  overboard." 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         245 


There  was  a  shudder  of  horror  for  a  moment,  and 
then  a  voice  outside  the  window,  hoarse  and  cheery, 
shouted  to  the  outer  crowd,  "Andrew  is  innocent! 
Three  cheers  for  Andrew  Zane  !" 

The  people  in  and  out  of  the  warm  and  densely- 
pressed  office  simultaneously  gave  cheers,  calling  others 
to  the  scene,  and  the  old  magistrate,  lame  as  he  was, 
arose  and  looked  happy. 

"  No  arrests  !"  he  cried.  "  Right  enough  !  Good  ! 
Now,  attention  !" 

But  Andrew  Zane  kept  his  seat  with  an  expression 
of  obstinacy,  and  glared  at  Calvin  Van  de  Lear,  who 
was  trembling  with  rage. 

"  Well  got  up,  on  my  word  !"  exclaimed  Calvin. 
"  Who  is  this  fellow  ?" 

"  Go  on  and  finish  your  story  !"  commanded  Duff 
Salter. 

"  God  forgive  Mike  Donovan,  your  Honor  !"  con 
tinued  the  witness.  "  I'm  afraid  if  Mr.  William  Zane 
had  been  the  only  man  overboard  I  wouldn't  have 
risked  me  life.  He  was  a  hard,  overbearin'  masther. 
But  I  thought  of  his  poor  son,  standin'  paralyzed-like, 
and  the  kind  Mr.  Rainey  drownin'  in  the  wintry  water, 
and  I  jumped  down  in  the  dark  flood  to  rescue  one  or 
both.  From  that  day  to  this,  the  two  partners  I  never 
saw.  It  was  months  before  I  saw  America  at  all,  or 
the  survivin'  okkepant  of  the  boat." 

"  You  may  explain  how  that  came  to  be,"  intimated 
Duff  Salter,  grimly  superintending  the  court. 

"  Well,  sir  !  As  I  dived  from  the  skiff  my  head  en 
countered  a  solid  something  which  made  me  see  a 
thousand  flashes  av  lightning  in  one  second.  I  was  so 


246         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

stunned  that  I  had  only  instinct — I  belave  ye  call  it 
that — to  throw  my  ar-rum  around  the  murthering  ob 
ject  and  hold  like  death.  Ye  know,  judge,  how 
drownin'  men  will  hold  to  straws.  That  straw,  yer 
Honor,  was  the  spar  of  a  vessel  movin'  through  tru 
water.  It  was,  I  found  out  afterward,  one  of  the 
pieces  which  had  wedged  the  ship  on  the  Marine  Rail 
way,  where  she  had  been  gettin'  repaired,  and  she  comin' 
off  hurriedly  about  dusk,  had  not  been  loosened  from 
her.  I  raised  my  voice  by  a  despairin'  effort,  and 
screamed  '  Help  !  help  !'  When  I  came  to  I  was  on  an 
Austrian  merchant  ship,  bound  to  Wilmington,  North 
Carolina,  for  naval  stores,  and  then  to  Trieste.  The 
blow  of  the  spar  had  given  me  a  slight  crack  av  the 
skull." 

'  That  crack  is  wide  open  yet,"  said  Calvin  Van  de 
Lear. 

"  Begorra, "  returned  the  Irishman,  facing  placidly 
around  until  he  found  the  owner  of  the  voice,  "  Mr. 
Calvin  Van  de  Lear,  it  would  take  many  such  a  blow, 
sur,  to  fracture  your  heart  !" 

"  Go  on  now,  Donovan,  and  finish  your  tale.  You 
were  carried  off  to  Trieste  ?"  spoke  Duff  Salter. 

"  I  was,  sir.  At  Wilmington  no  news  had  been  re- 
caved  of  any  tragedy  in  Philadelphia,  and  when  I  told 
my  story  there  to  a  gentleman  he  concluded  I  was  rav 
in'  and  a  seein'  delusions.  The  Austrian  was  short  av  a 
ctew,  and  the  docthor  said  if  they  could  get  away  to 
sea  he  could  make  me  effective  very  soon.  I  was  too 
helpless  to  go  on  deck  or  make  resistance.  Says  I, 
'  It's  the  will  av  God.'  ' 

A  round  of  applause  greeted  this  story  as  it  was  end- 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 


ed,  and  cheerful  hands  were  extended  to  the  witness 
and  the  prisoner.  Calvin  Van  de  Lear,  however,  ex 
claimed  : 

"  Alderman,  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  the  prison 
er's  ignominious  flight  for  months  from  his  home  and 
from  persons  he  abandoned  to  suspicion  and  shame  ? 
This  man  is  an  impostor." 

"Will  you  take  the  stand,  Mr.  Andrew  Zane  ?" 
asked  Duff  Salter. 

"  No,"  replied  the  late  fugitive.  "  I  have  been 
hunted  and  slandered  like  a  wolf.  I  will  give  no  evi 
dence  in  Kensington,  where  I  have  been  so  shamefully 
treated.  Let  me  be  sent  to  a  higher  court,  and  there  I 
will  speak." 

"  Alas  !"  Duff  Salter  said,  with  grave  emphasis,  "  it 
is  you  father's  old  and  obstinate  spirit  which  is  speak 
ing.  You  are  the  ghost  I  thought  was  his  at  the  door 
of  my  chamber.  Mr.  Magistrate,  swear  me  !" 

Duff  Salter  gravely  kissed  the  Testament  and  stood 
ready  to  depose,  when  Calvin  Van  de  Lear  again  inter 
rupted. 

"  Are  you  not  deaf?"  asked  the  divinity  student. 
"Where  are  your  tablets  that  you  carry  every  day  ? 
You  seem  to  hear  too  well,  I  consider." 

"  You  are  right,"  cried  Duff  Salter,  turning  on  his 
interrogator  like  a  lion.  "  I  am  wholly  cured  of  deaf 
ness,  and  my  memory  is  as  acute  as  my  hearing." 

Calvin  Van  de  Lear  turned  pale  to  the  roots  of  his 
dry,  yellow  whiskers. 

"  Devil  !"  he  muttered. 

"  My  testimony  covers  only  a  single  point,"  resumed 
the  strong,  direct,  and  imposing  witness.  "  I  saw  the 


248         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KEXSIXGTON. 


face  of  this  prisoner  for  the  first  time  since  his  baby 
hood  in  his  father's  house  not  many  weeks  ago.  It  re 
sembled  his  father's  youthful  countenance,  as  I  knew 
it,  so  greatly  that  I  really  believed  his  parent  haunted 
the  streets  of  Kensington,  according  to  the  rumor. 
The  supposed  apparition  drove  me  to  investigate  the 
mysterious  death  of  William  Zane.  I  believed  that 
Agnes  knew  the  story,  but  was  under  this  prisoner's 
command  of  secrecy.  Seeking  an  assistant,  the  wit 
ness,  Donovan,  forced  himself  upon  me.  In  a  short 
time  I  was  confounded  by  the  contradictions  of  his  be 
havior.  Looking  deeper  into  it,  I  suspected  that  in  his 
suit  of  clothing  resided  at  different  times  two  men  :  the 
one  an  agent,  the  other  a  principal  ;  the  one  a  reality, 
the  other  a  disguise.  I  armed  myself  and  had  the 
duller  and  less  observant  of  these  doubles  row  me  out 
upon  the  Delaware  on  such  a  night  as  marked  the 
tragedy  he  witnessed.  When  we  reached  the  middle 
of  the  river  I  forced  the  story  of  the  coincidence  from 
him  by  reasoning  and  threats." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !"  exclaimed  Calvin  Van  de  Lear.  "  Is 
this  an  Arkansas  snake  story  ?" 

"  The  young  Zane  had  gratified  a  wilful  passion  to 
penetrate  the  residence  of  his  father,  and  look  at  its 
inmates  and  the  situation  from  safe  harborage  there. 
He  found  that  Donovan  in  his  roving  sailor's  life  had 
played  the  crippled  sea  beggar  in  the  streets  of  British 
cities,  tying  up  his  natural  leg  and  fitting  a  wooden  leg 
to  the  knee — a  trick  well  known  to  British  ballad  sing 
ers.  That  leg  was  in  Donovan's  sea-chest,  as  it  had 
been  left  in  this  city,  and  also  the  crutch  necessary  to 
walk  with  it.  Mr.  Zane  and  Donovan  had  exchanged 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         249 


the  leg  and  crutch,  and  the  former  matched  his  fellow 
with  a  wig  and  patches.  Thus  convertible,  they  had 
for  a  little  while  deceived  everybody,  but  for  further 
convenience  Mr.  Zane  ensconced  himself  as  a  tenant 
in  a  neighboring  house,  and  when  the  apparatus  was  in 
request  by  Donovan,  he  crossed  on  the  roofs  between 
the  trap-doors,  and  still  was  master  of  his  residence." 

"  What  does  all  this  disclose  but  the  intrigue  of  de 
spairing  guilt  ?"  exclaimed  young  Van  de  Lear.  "  He 
had  destroyed  the  purity  of  a  lady  and  abandoned  her, 
and  was  afraid  to  show  his  real  face  in  Kensington." 

"  We  will  see  as  to  that,"  replied  Duff  Salter.  "  I 
had  hoped  to  respect  the  lady's  privacy,  but  Mr.  Zane 
has  refused  to  testify.  Call  Agnes  Wilt." 

All  in  the  magistrate's  office  rose  at  the  mention  of 
this  name,  only  Andrew  Zane  keeping  his  seat  amid 
the  crowd.  Calvin  Van  de  Lear  officiously  sought  to 
assist  the  witness  in,  but  Duff  Salter  pressed  him  back 
and  gave  the  sad  and  beautiful  woman  his  arm.  She 
was  sworn,  and  stood  there  blushing  and  pale  by  turns. 

"What  is  your  name?"  asked  Duff  Salter  gently. 
"  Speak  very  plain,  so  that  all  these  good  friends  of 
yours  may  make  no  mistake." 

"  My  name,"  replied  the  lady,  "  is  Agnes  Zane.  I 
am  the  wife  of  Mr.  Andrew  Zane." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Duff  Salter  soothingly.  "  You 
are  the  wife  of  Andrew  Zane  ;  wedded  how  long  ago, 
madam  ?" 

"  Eight  months." 

4  Do  you  see  any  person  in  this  court-room,  Mrs. 
Zane,  that  you  wish  to  identify  ?  Let  all  be  seated." 

Poor  Agnes  looked  timidly  around  the  place,  and  saw 


250         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

a  person,  at  whom  all  were  gazing,  rise  and  reach  his 

arms  toward  her. 

"  Gracious  God  !"  she  whispered,  "  is  it  he  ?" 

"  It  is,  dear  wife,"  cried  Andrew  Zane.      "  Come  to 

•ny  heart. " 

CHAPTER    X. 

THE    SECRET    MARRIAGE. 

REVEREND  SILAS  VAN  DE  LEAR  was  drawing  his 
latest  breaths  in  the  house  of  one  of  his  elder  sons, 
and  only  his  lips  were  seen  to  move  in  silent  prayer, 
when  a  younger  fellow-clergyman  entering,  to  a  cluster 
of  his  cloth  attending  there,  said  audibly  : 

"  This  is  a  strange  denouement  to  the  great  Kensing 
ton  scandal,  which  has  happened  this  afternoon." 

The  large,  voluptuous  lady  with  the  slowly  declining 
eyelids  raised  them  quietly  as  in  languid  surprise. 

"  You  mean  the  Zane  murder  ?  What  is  it  ?"  asked 
a  minister,  while  others  gathered  around,  showing  the 
ministry  to  have  human  curiosity  even  in  the  hour  and 
article  of  death. 

"  Miss  Agnes  Wilt,  the  especial  fa-vorite  of  our  dying 
patriarch  here,  was  married  to  young  Andrew  Zane 
some  time  before  his  father  died.  There  was  no  murder 
in  the  case.  Zane  the  elder,  in  one  of  his  frequent  fits 
of  wild  and  arrogant  rage,  which  were  little  less  than 
insanity,  killed  his  partner,  Rainey,  and  in  as  sudden 
remorse  took  his  own  life." 

"  What  was  the  occasion  of  Zane's  rage  ?" 
'  That  is  not  quite  clear,  but  the  local  population 
here  is  in  a  violent  reaction  against  the  accusers  of 


THE   DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         251 

young  Zane  and  his  wife.  The  church  recovers  a  val 
uable  wo:nan  in  Agnes  Zane." 

Mrs.  Knox  Van  de  Lear  had  a  vial  of  smelling  salts 
in  her  hand,  and  this  vial  dropping  suddenly  on  the 
floor  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  lady  had  a 
little  swooning  turn.  She  was  herself  again  in  a 
minute,  and  her  eyes  slowly  unclosed  and  lifted  their 
tender  curtains  prettily. 

"I  am  so  glad  for  dear  Agnes,"  she  said  with  a 
natural  loudness  in  that  hushed  room.  "  It  even  made 
me  forget  papa  to  find  Agnes  innocent." 

The  dying  minister  seemed  to  catch  the  words.  A 
ministerial  colleague  bent  down  to  hear  his  low  artic 
ulation  : 

"  Agnes  innocent  !"  said  Silas  Van  de  Lear,  and 
strove  to  clasp  his  hands.  ''-The  praying  of  the  right 
eous  availeth  much  !" 

The  physician  said  the  good  man's  pulse  ceased  to 
beat  at  that  minute,  and  they  raised  around  his  scarcely 
cold  remains  a  hymn  to  heaven. 

Mean  time,  at  the  alderman's  court,  a  surprising  scene 
was  witnessed.  For  a  few  minutes  everybody  was  in  a 
frenzy  of  delight,  and  Duff  Salter  was  the  hero  of  the 
hour.  The  alderman  made  no  effort  to  discipline  any 
person  ;  people  hugged  and  laughed,  and  entreated  to 
shake  hands  with  Andrew  Zane,  and  in  the  pleasing 
;onfusion  Calvin  Van  de  Lear  slunk  out,  white  as  one 
condemned  to  be  whipped.  • 

"  Now  !  now  !  We  will  !  Yes  !"  said  the  senten 
tious  old  alderman.  "  Come  to  order.  Andrew  Zane 
must  be  sworn  !" 

At  this  moment  the  Kensington  volunteer  fire  ap- 


252         THE   DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

paratus  stopped  opposite  the  alderman's  office  and 
began  to  peal  its  bells  merrily.  The  young  husband's 
obstinacy  slowly  giving  way,  seemed  to  be  gone  entire 
ly  when,  searching  the  room  with  his  eye,  he  detected 
the  flight  of  Calvin  Van  de  Lear.  He  kissed  the  little 
book  as  if  it  were  a  box  of  divine  balm,  and  raised  his 
voice,  looking  still  tenderly  at  Agnes,  and  addressing 
Duff  Salter  : 

"  Will  you  examine  me,  my  father's  friend  ?" 

"  Yes,  now  !     You  will  !"  exploded  the  alderman. 

"  No,  take  your  own  method,  thou  alternate  of  the 
late  Mike  Donovan,"  exclaimed  Duff  Salter  with  a 
smile. 

"  I  never  thought  there  could  be  an  excuse  for  my 
behavior,"  said  Andrew  Zane,  "  until  this  unexpected 
kind  treatment  had  encouraged  me.  Indeed,  my 
friends,  I  am  in  every  alternative  unfortunate.  To  de 
fend  myself  I  must  reflect  upon  the  dead.  I  will  not 
make  a  defence,  but  tell  my  story  plainly. 

"  My  father  was  a  man  of  deeds — a  kind,  rude  busi 
ness  man.  He  loved  me  and  I  worshipped  him,  though 
our  apposite  tempers  frequently  brought  us  in  conflict. 
Neither  of  us  knew  how  to  curb  the  other  or  be  curbed 
in  turn.  Above  all  things  I  learned  to  fear  my  father's 
will  ;  it  was  invincible. 

"  My  wife  and  I  grew  up  in  my  widower  father's 
family,  and  fell  in  love,  and  had  an  understanding  that 
at  a  proper  season  we  would  marry.  That  season 
could  not  be  long  postponed  when  Agnes's  increasing 
beauty  and  my  ardor  kept  pace  together.  I  sought  an 
occasion  to  break  the  secret  to  my  father,  and  his  re 
ception  of  it  filled  me  with  terror.  '  Marry  Agnes  !  '  he 


THE   DEAF  MAX  OF  KENSINGTON.         253 

replied,     '  You  have  no   right  to  her.     Your  mother 
left  her  to  me.     I  may  marry  her  myself.' 

"  If  he  had  never  formed  this  design  before  it  was 
now  pursued  with  his  well-known  tireless  energy.  The 
suggestion  needed  no  other  encouragement  than  her 
beauty,  ever  present  to  inflame  us  both.  Her  house 
hold  habits  and  society  were  to  his  liking  ;  he  offered 
me  everything  but  that  which  embraced  all  to  me. 
'  Go  to  Europe  ! '  he  said.  '  Take  a  wife  where  you 
will  ;  but  Agnes  you  shall  not  have.  I  will  give  you 
money,  pleasure,  and  independence,  but  I  love  where 
you  have  looked.  Agnes  will  be  your  mother,  not  your 
wife  !  ' 

"  Alas  !  gentlemen,  this  purpose  of  my  father  was 
not  mere  tyranny  ;  he  loved  her,  indeed,  and  that  was 
the  insurmountable  fact.  My  betrothed  had  too  much 
reason  to  know  it.  We  mingled  our  tears  together  and 
acknowledged  our  dependence  and  duty,  but  we  loved 
with  that  youthful  fulness  which  cannot  be  mistaken 
nor  dissuaded.  In  our  distress  we  went  to  that  kind 
partner  whom  my  father  had  raised  from  an  apprentice 
to  be  his  equal,  and  asked  him  what  to  do.  He  told 
us  to  marry  while  we  could.  Agnes  preferred  an  open 
marriage  as  least  in  consequences,  and  involving  every 
trouble  in  the  brave  outset.  I  hoped  to  wean  my 
father  from  his  wilfulness,  and  yet  protect  my  affec 
tion  by  a  secret  marriage,  to  which  with  difficulty  I 
prevailed  on  my  betrothed  to  consent.  After  our  mar 
riage  I  found  my  husband's  domain  no  less  invaded  by 
my  father's  suit,  until  life  became  intolerable  and  it 
was  necessary  to  speak.  Poor,  brave  Rainey,  feeling 
keenly  for  us,  fixed  the  time  and  place.  He  had  sel- 


254         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 


dom  crossed  my  father,  and  I  trembled  for  his  safety, 
but  never  could  have  anticipated  what  came  to  pass. 

"  Mr.  Rainey  said  to  us,  '  I  will  tell  your  father, 
while  we  are  crossing  the  river  some  evening  in  a  bat- 
teau,  that  you  and  Agnes  are  married,  and  his  suit  is 
fruitless.  He  will  be  unable  to  do  worse  than  sit  still 
and  bear  it  in  the  small  limits  of  the  boat,  and  before 
we  touch  the  other  shore  will  get  philosophy  from 
time  and  consideration.' 

"  That  plan  wr.s  carried  out.  Shall  I  recount  the 
dreadful  circumstances  again  ?  Spare  me,  I  entreat 
you  !" 

"  No,  I  won't  ! '  The  whole  truth  !"  exclaimed  the 
stern  magistrate.  "  Tell  it  !" 

'  You  are  making  no  mistake,  my  young  friend," 
said  Duff  Salter.  "  It  will  all  be  told  very  soon." 

"  As  we  started  from  Treaty  Island,  on  that  dark 
winter  night,"  continued  Andrew  Zane,  growing  pale 
while  he  spoke,  "  Mr.  Rainey  said  to  me,  '  Go  in  the 
bow.  You  are  not  to  speak  one  word.  1  will  face 
your  father  astern.'  The  oarsman,  Donovan,  had  a 
hard  pull.  The  first  word  I  heard  my  father  say  was, 
'  That  is  none  of  your  affair.'  '  It  is  everybody's 
affair,'  answered  Mr.  Rainey,  '  because  you  make  it 
so.  Behave  like  a  gentleman  and  a  parent.  The 
young  people  love  each  other.'  '  I  have  the  j^oung 
lady's  affections, '  said  my  father.  '  You  are  making  her 
miserable,'  said  Mr.  Rainey,  '  and  are  deceiving  your 
self.  She  begins  to  hate  you.'  '  You  are  an  insolent 
liar  !  '  exclaimed  my  father.  '  If  you  mix  in  this  busi 
ness  I  will  throw  you  out  of  the  firm.'  '  That  is  no  in 
timidation  to  me,'  answered  his  partner.  '  Prosperity 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         255 


can  never  attend  the  business  of  a  cruel  and  unjust 
man.  I  shall  be  a  brother  to  Andrew  and  a  father  to 
Agnes,  since  you  would  defraud  them  so.  William 
Zane,  I  will  see  them  married  and  supported  !  '  With 
that  my  father  threw  himself  in  mere  physical  rage 
upon  Mr.  Rainey.  They  both  arose,  and  Mr.  Raine) 
shook  himself  loose  and  cried,  '  You  are  outwitted, 
partner.  I  saw  them  married  !  They  are  man  and 
wife  !  ' 

"  With  this  my  father's  rage  had  no  expression  short 
of  recklessness.  He  always  carried  arms,  and  was  un 
conquerable.  His  ready  hand  had  sought  his  weapon, 
I  think,  hardly  consciously.  His  dismay  and  indig 
nation  for  an  instant  destroyed  his  reason  at  Mr. 
Rainey's  sudden  statement  of  fact. 

"  My  God  !  can  I  further  particularize  on  such  a 
scene  ?  In  a  moment  cf  time  1  saw  before  my  eyes  a 
homicide  of  insanity,  a  suicide  of  remorse  ;  and  to  end 
all,  the  sailor  in  the  boat,  as  if  set  crazy  by  these  oc 
currences,  leaped  overboard  also." 

This  narrative,  given  with  rising  energy  of  feeling  by 
Andrew  Zane,  was  heard  with  breathless  attention. 
Andrew  paused  and  glanced  at  his  wife,  whose  face  was 
bathed  with  the  inner  light  of  perfect  relief.  The 
greater  babe  of  secrecy  had  ceased  to  travail  with  her. 

"  Mr.  Magistrate,"  said  the  young  husband,  "  as  I 
am  under  my  oath,  I  can  only  relate  the  acts  which  fol 
lowed  from  the  inference  of  my  feelings.  My  first 
sense  was  that  of  astonishment  too  intense  not  to  ap 
pear  unreal  and  even  amusing.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
if  I  would  laugh  out  loud  all  would  come  back,  as  de 
lusions  yield  to  scepticism  and  mockery.  But  it  was 


256         THE  DEAF  MAN   OF  KENSINGTON. 

too  cold  not  to  be  real,  the  scene  and  persons  were  tco 
familiar  to  be  erroneous.  I  had  to  realize  that  I  was  in 
one  of  the  great  and  terrible  occasional  convulsions  of 
human  nature.  Do  you  know  how  it  next  affected  me  ? 
Vith  an  instant's  sense  of  sublimity  !  I  said  to  my 
self,  '  How  dared  I  marry  so  much  beauty  and  woman 
ly  majesty  ?  Doing  so,  I  have  tempted  the  old  gods 
and  their  fates  and  furies.  This  is  poetical  punish 
ment  for  my  temerity.'  Still  all  the  while  I  was  labor 
ing  at  the  one  scull  left  in  the  boat  while  my  brain  was 
fuming  so,  and  listening  for  sounds  on  the  water.  I 
heard  the  sailor  cry  twice,  and  then  his  voice  fainted 
away.  I  began  to  weep  at  the  oar  while  I  strained 
upon  it,  and  called  '  Help  !  '  and  implored  God's  inter 
vention.  At  last  I  sat  down  in  the  boat,  worn  out  and 
in  despair,  and  let  it  drift  down  all  the  city's  front, 
past  lights  and  glooms  and  floating  ice,  and  wished 
that  I  were  dead.  My  father's  kindness  and  all  our 
disagreements  rose  to  mind,  and  it  seemed  God's  pun 
ishment  that  I  had  married  where  his  intentions  were. 
Yet  to  know  the  truth  of  this,  I  said  a  prayer  upon  my 
knees  in  the  wet  boat  while  my  teeth  chattered,  and 
before  the  end  of  my  prayer  had  come  I  was  thinking 
of  my  wife's  pure  name,  and  how  this  would  spot  her 
as  with  stains  of  blood  unless  I  could  explain  it. 

"  When  I  reached  this  stage  of  my  exalted  sensibili 
ties  I  was  nearly  crazed.  There  had  been  no  witness 
of  our  marriage  except  the  minister,  and  he  was 
already  dead.  We  had  been  married  at  the  country 
parsonage  cf  an  old  retired  minister  beyond  Oxford 
church,  on  the  road  from  Frankford  town,  as  we  drove 
out  one  afternoon,  and  I  prevailed  with  my  conscicn- 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         257 

tious  wife  to  yield  her  scruples  to  our  heart's  necessity. 
'  Great  God  !  '  I  thought  aloud — for  none  could  hear 
me  there — '  ho\v  dreadfully  that  secret  marriage  will 
compromise  my  wife  !  Who  will  believe  us  without  a 
witness  of  what  I  must  assert — a  story  so  improbable 
that  I  would  not  believe  it  myself  ?  I  must  say  that  I 
married  my  wife  secretly  from  my  father's  house,  con 
fessing  deceit  for  both  of  us,  and  with  Agnes's  religious 
professions,  a  sin  in  the  church's  estimation.  If  there 
could  be  an  excuse  for  me,  the  strict  people  of  Ken 
sington  will  accord  none  to  her.  They  will  charge  on 
her  maturer  mind  the  whole  responsibility,  paint  her  in 
the  colors  of  ingratitude,  and  find  in  her  greatest 
poverty  the  principal  motive.  Yes,  they  may  be 
wicked  enough  to  say  she  compassed  the  death  of  my 
father  by  my  hands,  to  get  his  property.' 

"  I  had  proceeded  thus  far  when  the  terror  of  our 
position  became  luminous  like  the  coming  fire  on  a 
prairie,  which  shows  everything  but  a  way  of  escape. 
'  Where  is  your  father  ? '  they  would  ask  of  me  in  Ken 
sington.  '  He  is  drowned.'  '  How  drowned  ?'  '  He 
shot  himself.'  'Why  did  he  shoot  himself?'  'Be 
cause  I  had  married  his  ward.'  '  But  his  partner  is 
gone  too.'  'He  is  murdered.'  'Why  murdered?' 
'  Because  he  interceded  for  me.'  '  Where  is  your  wit 
ness  ?'  '  He  has  disappeared.1  I  saw  the  wild  im 
probability  of  this  tale,  and  thought  of  past  notorious 
quarrels  with  my  father  ended  by  my  voluntary  ab 
sence.  There  were  but  two  points  that  seemed  to 
stick  in  my  nervous  mind  :  '  It  never  would  do  to  tell 
our  marriage  at  that  moment,  and  I  must  find  that 
sailor,  who  might  still  be  living.' 


258         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 


"He  found  me,  sure  enough,  begorra  !"  exclaimed 
Mike  Donovan,  giving  the  relief  of  laughter  to  that  in 
tense  narrative. 

"  Cowardly  as  you  may  call  my  resolution,  gentlemen, 
it  was  all  the  resolution  I  had  left  To  partake  of  the  in 
heritance  left  me  by  both  partners  in  our  house  I  feared' 
to  do.  '  Let  us  do  the  penance  of  suspicious  separa 
tion,'  I  said  to  Agnes  ;  'as  your  husband  I  command 
you  to  let  me  go  !  '  She  yielded  like  a  wife,  and  stood 
my  hostage  in  Kensington  for  all  those  melancholy 
months.  I  had  just  learned  the  place  for  which  the 
bark  which  passed  us  on  that  eventful  night  had  cleared, 
when  the  two  bullet-pierced  bodies  were  discovered  in 
the  ice.  That  night  I  sailed  for  Wilmington,  North 
Carolina.  When  I  arrived  there  the  bark  was  gone  for 
the  Mediterranean,  but  I  heard  of  my  sailor,  wounded, 
in  her  hospital.  I  sailed  from  Charleston  for  Cuba, 
and  from  Cuba  to  Cadiz,  and  thence  I  embarked  for 
Trieste.  At  Trieste  I  found  the  ship,  but  Donovan 
had  sailed  for  Liverpool.  From  Liverpool  I  tracked 
him  to  the  River  Tlate,  and  thence  to  Panama.  You 
will  ask  how  I  lived  all  those  months  ?  Ask  him." 

He  turned  to  Duff  Salter. 

"Mr.  Magistrate,"  spoke  Duff  Salter,  a  little  con 
fused.  "  I  sent  him  drafts  at  his  request.  He  knew 
me  to  be  the  resident  executor,  and  wrote  to  me.  I 
did  it  because  of  the  pity  I  had  for  Agnes,  and  my 
faith  in  her  assurance  that  he  was  innocent." 

"  Good  !  Yes  !"  exclaimed  the  magistrate.  "  I 
would  have  done  the  same  myself." 

"I  returned  with  my  man,"  concluded  Andrew 
Zane.  "  I  was  now  so  confident  that  I  did  not  fear  ; 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         259 


but  a  hard  obstinacy,  coming  on  me  at  times,  I  know 
not  how,  impelled  me  to  postpone  my  vindication  and 
make  a  test  of  everybody.  I  was  full  of  suspicion  and 
bitterness — the  reaction  from  so  much  undeserved 
anxiety.  I  was  the  ghost  of  Kensington,  and  the  spy 
upon  my  guardian,  but  the  unknown  sentry  upon  my 
wife's  honor  all  the  while. 

"  Magistrate  !" — the  young  man  turned  to  the  alder 
man,  and  his  face  flushed  — "  is  there  no  punishment  at 
law  for  men,  and  women  too,  who  have  cruelly  perse 
cuted  my  wife  with  anonymous  letters,  intended  to 
wound  her  brave  spirit  to  the  quick  ?" 

"  Plenty  of  it,"  said  the  magistrate.  "  Yes,  I  will. 
I  will  warrant  them  all." 

"  I  will  not  forget  it,"  said  Andrew  Zane  darkly. 

"  My  husband,  forget  everything  !"  exclaimed  Ag 
nes.  "  Except  that  we  are  happy.  God  has  forgiven 
us  our  only  deceit,  which  has  been  the  temptation 
of  many  in  dear  old  Kensington." 

The  old  magistrate  arose.  "  Case  dismissed,"  he 
said  :  "  Dinner  is  ready  in  the  next  room  for  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Zane,  and  Judge  Salter.  I  fine  you  all  a  dinner. 
Yes,  yes  !  I  will  !" 

CHAPTER    XI. 

TREATY    ELM. 

ANDREW  ZANE  was  leaning  on  his  elbow,  in  bed, 
listening  to  the  tolling  bell  for  the  old  pastor  of  Ken 
sington.  He  had  not  attended  the  funeral,  fearing  to 
trust  his  eyes  and  heart  near  Calvin  Van  de  Lear,  for 
the  unruly  element  in  his  blood  was  not  wholly  stilled. 


260         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 


Good  and  evil,  gratitude  and  recollection,  contended 
within  him,  and  Agnes  just  escaped  from  the  long 
shadow  of  his  father's  rage —had  forebodings  of  some 
violence  when  the  two  young  men  should  meet  in  the 
little  thoroughfare  of  Kensington — the  one  with  the  ac 
cumulated  indignities  he  had  suffered  liable  to  be  aroused 
by  the  other's  shallow  superciliousness.  Agnes  had 
but  one  friend  to  carry  her  fears  to — Him  "  who 
never  forsaketh."  She  had  not  persisted  that  her  hus 
band  should  attend  the  old  pastor's  funeral,  whither 
Duff  Salter  escorted  her,  and  going  there,  relieved  from 
all  imputation,  her  evidently  wedded  state  was  seen 
with  general  respect.  People  spcke  to  her  as  of  old, 
congratulated  her  even  at  the  grave,  and  sought  to  re 
pair  their  own  misapprehensions,  suspicions,  and  severi 
ties,  which  Agnes  accepted  without  duplicity. 

Andrew  Zane  was  leaning  up  in  bed  hearing  the  toll 
ing  bell  when  Agnes  reappeared. 

"Husband,"  she   said,  "only   Knox  Van   de  Lear 
was  at  the  grave,  of  the  pastor's  sons." 

"  Ha  !"  exclaimed  Andrew. 

"  He  looked  worse  than  grief  could  make  him.     A 
terrible  tale  is  afloat  in  Kensington." 

Husband  and  wife  locked  at  each  other  a  moment 
in  silence. 

'  They  say,"  continued  Agnes,  "  that  Calvin  Van  de 
Lear  has  fled  with  his  brother's  wife.  That  is  the  talk 
of  the  town.  Professing  to  desire  some  clothing  for 
the  funeral,  they  took  a  carriage  together,  and  were 
driven  to  Tacony  yesterday,  where  the  afternoon  train, 
meeting  the  steamboat  from  Philadelphia,  took  them 
on  board  for  New  York." 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON'.         261 

Andrew  fell  back  on  his  pillow. 
"  God  has  hedged  me  all  around,"  he  answered. 
"  While  Calvin  Van  de  Lear  lived  in  Kensington  I 
was  in  revengeful  temptation  all  the  time.  He  has 
escaped,  and  my  soul  is  oppressed  no  more.  Do  you 
know,  Agnes,  that  the  guilty  accomplice  of  Calvin,  his 
brother's  wife,  wrote  all  the  worst  letters  which  anony 
mously  came  through  the  post  ?" 

Agnes  replied  : 

"  I  never  suspected  it.  My  heart  was  too  full  of 
you.  But  Mr.  Salter  told  me  to-day  that  he  unravelled 
it  some  time  ago.  Calvin  Van  de  Lear  showed  him,  in 
a  moment  of  egotism,  the  conquest  he  had  made  over 
an  unknown  lady's  affections,  and  passages  of  the  cor 
respondence.  The  keen  old  man  immediately  identi 
fied  in  the  handwriting  the  person  who  addressed  him 
a  letter  against  us  soon  after  his  arrival  in  the  East. 
But  he  did  not  tell  me  until  to-day.  How  did  you 
know  she  was  the  person  ?" 

Andrew  Zane  blushed  a  little,  and  confessed  : 

"  Agnes,  she  used  to  write  tome.  Seeing  the  anony 
mous  letters  you  received,  I  knew  the  culprit  instantly. 
It  was  that  which  precipitated  the  flight.  She  feared 
that  her  anonymous  letters  would  result  in  her  arrest 
and  public  trial  for  slander,  as  they  would  have  done. 
The  magistrate  promised  me  that  he  would  issue  his  war 
rant  for  every  person  who  had  employed  the  public 
mails  to  harass  my  wife,  and  when  you  entered  this 
room  my  darker  passions  were  again  working  to  pun 
ish  that  woman  and  her  paramour." 

"  Dearest,  let  them  be  forgotten.  Yes,  forgiven 
too.  But  poor  Mr.  Knox  Van  de  Lear  !  They  have 


262         THE  DEAF  MAN'  OF  A'ENSIA'CTO.V. 


stolen  his  savings  and  mortgaged  his  household  furni 
ture,  which  he  was  confiding  enough  to  have  put  in  his 
wife's  name.  That  is  also  a  part  of  the  story  related 
around  the  good  pastor's  grave." 

"  Calvin  has  not  escaped, "  exclaimed  Andrew  Zane. 
"  As  long  as  that  tigress  accompanies  him  he  hasexpia 
tion  to  make.  Voluptuous,  jealous,  restless,  and,  like 
a  snake  in  the  tightness  of  her  folds  and  her  noiseless 
approach,  she  will  smother  him  with  kisses  and  sell  him 
to  his  enemies." 

"  Do  you  know  her  so  well  ?"  asked  Agnes  placidly. 

:<  Very  well.  She  was  corrupt  from  childhood,  but 
only  a  few  of  us  knew  it.  She  grew  to  be  beautiful, 
and  had  the  quickened  intelligence  which,  for  a  while, 
accompanies  ruined  women  :  the  unnatural  sharpening 
of  the  duplicity,  the  firmer  grasp  on  man  as  the  animal, 
the  study  of  the  proprieties  of  life,  and  apparent  impa 
tience  with  all  misbehavior.  Her  timid  voice  assisted 
her  cunning  as  if  with  a  natural  gentleness,  and  invited 
onward  the  man  who  expected  in  her  ample  charms  a 
bolder  spirit.  She  betook  herself  to  the  church  for 
penance,  perhaps,  but  remained  there  for  a  character. 
My  wife,  if  I  have  suffered,  it  was,  perhaps,  in  part 
because  for  every  sin  is  some  punishment  ;  that  woman 
was  my  temptress  also  !" 

His  face  was  pale  as  he  spoke  these  words,  but  he 
did  not  drop  his  eyes.  The  wife  looked  at  him  with  a 
face  also  paled  and  startled. 

"  Remember,"  said  Andrew  Zane,  "  that  I  was  a 
man." 

She  walked  to  him  in  a  moment  and  kissed  his  fore 
head. 


THE  DEAF  MAN   OF  KENSINGTON.         263 


' '  I  will  have  no  more  deceit, ' '  said  Andrew.  ' '  That 
is  why  I  give  you  this  pain.  It  was  long,  my  darling, 
before  we  loved." 

'  That  was  the   source,  perhaps,  of  Lottie's  anger 
with  me/'  spoke  Agnes. 

"  I  think  not.  There  was  not  a  sentiment  between 
us.  It  is  the  way,  occasionally,  that  a  very  bad  woman 
is  made,  by  marriage  or  wealth,  respectable,  and  she 
declares  war  on  her  own  past  and  its  imitators.  You 
were  pursued  because  you  had  exchanged  deserts  with 
her.  You  were  pure  and  abused  ;  she  was  approved 
but  tainted.  Not  your  misfortunes  but  your  goodness 
rebuked  her,  and  she  lashed  you  behind  her  alias ,  as 
every  demon  would  riot  in  lashing  the  angels." 

"  My  husband,"  exclaimed  Agnes,  "  where  did  you 
draw  such  secrets  from  woman's  nature  ?  God  has 
blessed  you  with  wisdom.  I  felt,  myself,  by  some  in 
tuition  of  our  sex,  that  it  was  sin,  not  virtue,  that  took 
such  pains  to  upbraid  me." 

"  I  drew  them  from  the  old,  old  plant,"  answered 
Andrew  Zane  ;  "  the  Tree  of  Knowledge  of  Good  and 
Evil.  Yonder,  where  I  skimmed  the  surface  of  a  bad 
woman  ;  here,  where  I  am  forgiven." 

"  If  you  felt  remorse,"  said  Agnes,  "  you  were  not 
given  up." 

"  After  we  were  engaged  that  woman  cast  her  eyes 
on  my  widowed  father  and  notified  me  that  1  must  not 
stand  in  her  way.  '  If  you  embarrass  me  by  one 
word,'  she  said  to  me  in  her  pretty,  timid  way,  but 
with  the  look  of  a  lion  out  of  her  florid  fringes,  '  I  will 
shatter  your  future  hearthstone.  You  are  not  fit  to 
marry  a  Christian  woman  like  Agnes  Wilt.  I  am  good 


264         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

enough  for  you  father — yes,'  she  finished,  with  terrible 
irony,  '  and  to  be  your  mother  !  '  Those  words  went 
with  me  around  the  world.  Agnes,  was  I  not  pun 
ished  ?" 

''  To  think  that  the  son  of  so  good  a  man  should  be 
bound  to  such  a  tyrant." 

"  Yes,  she  will  make  him  steal  for  her,  or  worse. 
He  will  end  by  being  her  most  degraded  creature, 
leading  and  misleading  to  her.  Theirs  is  an  unreturn- 
ing  path.  God  keep  us  all  faithful  !" 

Duff  Salter  became  again  mysterious.  He  sent  for 
his  trunks,  and  gave  his  address  as  the  "  Treaty 
House,"  on  Beach  Street,  nearly  opposite  the  monu 
ment,  only  a  square  back  from  the  Zane  house. 

"  Andrew,"  said  Salter,  when  the  young  husband 
sought  him  there,  "  I  concluded  to  move  because  there 
will  be  a  nurse  in  tha^house  before  midsummer.  If  I 
was  deaf  as  I  once  was,  it  would  make  no  difference. 
But  a  very  slight  cry  would  certainly  pierce  my  restored 
sensibilities  now." 

The  Treaty  House  was  a  fine,  old-fashioned  brick, 
with  a  long  saloon  or  double  parlor  containing  many 
curiosities,  such  as  pieces  of  old  ships  of  war,  weapons 
used  in  Polynesia  and  brought  home  by  old  sea  captains, 
the  jaws  of  whales  and  narwhals,  figure-heads  from 
perished  vessels,  harpoons,  and  points  of  various  naval 
actions.  In  those  days,  before  manufactures  had  ex 
tended  up  all  the  water  streets,  and  when  domestic  war 
had  not  been  known  for  a  whole  generation,  the  little 
low  marble  monument  on  the  site  of  William  Penn's 
treaty  with  the  Indians  attracted  hundreds  of  strangers, 
who  moistened  their  throats  and  cooled  their  foreheads 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         265 

in  the  great  bar  parlor  of  the  Treaty  House.  It  was 
still  a  secluded  spot,  shady  and  dewy  with  venerable 
trees,  and  the  moisture  they  gave  the  old  brown  and 
black  bricks  in  the  contiguous  houses,  some  of  them 
still  stylish,  and  all  their  windows  topped  with  marble 
or  sandstone,  gray  with  the  superincumbent  weight  of 
time  or  neglect.  Large  rear  additions  and  sunless  side- 
yards  carried  out  the  idea  of  a  former  gentry.  Some 
buttonwood  trees,  now  thinning  out  with  annual  age, 
conveyed  by  their  speckled  trunks  the  notion  of  a 
changing  social  standard,  white  and  brown,  native  and 
foreign,  while  the  lines  of  maples  stood  on  blackened 
boles  like  old  retired  seamen,  bronzed  in  many  voyages 
and  planted  home  forever.  But  despite  the  narrow, 
neglected,  shady  street,  the  slope  of  Shackamaxon 
went  gently  shelving  to  the  edges  of  long  sunny 
wharves,  nearly  as  in  the  day  when  Penn  selected  this 
greensward  to  meet  his  Indian  friends,  and  barter  tools 
and  promises  for  forest  levels  and  long  rich  valleys, 
now  open  to  the  sky  and  murmurous  with  wheat  and 
green  potato  vines. 

Sitting  before  the  inn  door,  on  drowsy  June  after 
noons,  Duff  Salter  heard  the  adzes  ring  and  hammers 
smite  the  thousand  bolt-heads  on  lofty  vessels,  raised 
on  mast-like  scaffolds  as  if  they  meant  to  be  launched 
into  the  air  and  go  cleared  for  yonder  faintly  tinted 
spectral  moon,  which  lingered  so  long  by  day,  like  the 
symbol  of  the  Indian  race,  departed  but  lambent  in 
thoughtful  memories.  Duff  had  grown  superstitious  ; 
he  came  out  of  the  inn  door  sidewise,  that  he  might 
always  see  that  moon  over  his  right  shoulder  for  good 
luck. 


266         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KEXSINGTOX. 

One  morning  Andrew  Zane  appeared  at  the  Treaty 
House  before  Duff  Sailer  had  taken  his  julep,  after  the 
fashion  of  malarious  Arkansas. 

"  Mr.  Salter,  it  is  all  over.  There  is  a  baby  at  our 
house." 

"  Girl?" 

"  Just  that  !" 

"  I  thought  so,"  exclaimed  Duff  Salter.  "  It  was 
truly  mother's  labor,  and  ought  to  have  been  like 
Agnes.  We  will  give  her  a  toast." 

"In    nothing   but   water,"    spoke   Andrew   soberly. 

I  hope  I  have  sown  my  wild  oats." 

"  I  will  imitate  you,"  heartily  responded  Duff  Sal 
ter  ;  "  for  it  occurred  to  me  in  Arkansas  that  people 
shot  and  butchered  each  other  so  often  because  they 
threw  into  empty  stomachs  a  long  tumbler  cf  liquor  and 
leaves.  You  are  well  started,  Andrew.  Your  father's 
and  his  partner's  estate  will  give  you  an  income  cf 
$10,000.  What  will  you  do  ?" 

"  I  have  no  idea  whatever.  My  mind  is  not  ready 
for  business.  My  serious  experience  has  been  followed 
by  a  sort  of  stupor — an  inquiry,  a  detached  relation  to 
everything." 

"  Let  it  be  so  awhile,"  answered  the  strong, 
gray-eyed  man.  "  Such  rests  are  often  medicine,  as 
sleep  is.  The  mind  will  find  its  true  channel  some 
day. ' ' 

"Can  I  be  of  service  to  you,  Mr.  Salter?  Money 
would  be  a  small  return  of  our  obligations  to  you." 

"  No,  I  am  independent.  Tco  independent  !  I 
wish  I  had  a  wife." 

"  Ah  !     Agnes  told  me  that  besides  seeing  the  baby 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         267 


when  you  came  to  the  house,  little  Mary  Byeily  would 
be  there.  She  is  well  enough  to  be  out,  and  has  lost 
her  invalid  brother." 

"  If  you  see  me  blush,  Andrew,'  said  Duff  Salter, 
"  you  needn't  tell  of  it.  I  am  in  love  with  little  Podge, 
but  it's  all  over.  With  no  understanding  of  woman's 
sensibilities,  I  shook  that  fragile  child  in  my  rude 
grasp,  and  frightened  her  forever.  What  will  you  call 
your  baby  ?" 

"  Agnes  says  it  shall  be  Euphemia,  meaning  '  of  good 
report.'  You  know  it  came  near  being  a  young  lady 
of  bad  report." 

"  As  for  me,  Andrew,  I  shall  make  the  contract  for 
the  steeple  and  completion  of  the  new  church,  and  then 
take  a  foreign  journey.  Since  I  stopped  sneezing  I 
have  no  way  to  disguise  my  sensibilities,  and  am  more 
an  object  of  suspicion  than  ever." 

Duff  Salter  peeped  at  the  beautiful  mother  and  hung 
a  chain  of  gold  around  the  baby's  neck,  and  was  about 
slipping  out  when  Podge  Byerly  appeared.  She  made 
a  low  bow  and  shrank  away. 

"  Follow  her,"  whispered  Andrew  Zane.  "  If  she 
is  cool  now  she  will  be  cold  hereafter,  unless  you  nurse 
her  confidence." 

With  a  sense  of  great  youthfulness  and  demerit,  Duff 
Salter  entered  the  parlors  and  found  Podge  sitting  in 
he  shadows  of  that  thrice  notable  room  where  death 
ind  grief  had  been  so  often  carried  and  laid  down. 
The  little  teacher  was  pale  and  thin,  and  her  eyes  wore 
a  saddened  light. 

I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  again,"  said  Duff  Salter. 
"  I  wanted  your  forgiveness." 


263         THE   DEAF  MAN  OF  KEATSL\-GTON. 

Striking  the  centre  of  sympathy  by  these  few  words, 
the  late  deaf  man  saw  Podge's  throat  agitated. 

"If  you  knew,"  he  continued,  "how  often  I  ac 
cused  myself  since  your  illness,  you  would  try  to  ex 
cuse  me." 

After  a  little  silence  Podge  said, 

"  I  don't  remember  just  what  happened,  Mr.  Salter. 
Was  it  you  who  sent  me  many  beautiful  and  dainty 
things  while  I  was  sick  ?  I  thought  it  might  be." 

"  You  guessed  me,  then  ?  At  least  I  was  not  forgot 
ten." 

"  I  never  forgot  you,  sir  ;  but  ever  since  my  illness 
you  seem  to  have  been  a  part  of  the  dread  river  and  its 
dead.  I  have  often  tried  to  restore  you  as  I  once 
thought  of  you,  but  other  things  rise  up  and  I  cannot 
see  you.  My  head  was  gone,  I  suppose." 

"  Alas,  no  !  I  drove  away  your  heart.  If  that  would 
come  back,  the  wandeiing  head  would  follow,  little 
friend.  Are  you  afraid  of  me  ?" 

"  Sometimes.  One  thing,  I  think,  is  your  deafness. 
While  you  were  deaf  you  seemed  so  natural  that  we 
talked  freely  before  you,  prattling  out  our  fancies  un 
disguised.  We  wouldn't  have  done  it  if  we  knew  that 
you  heard  as  well  as  we.  That  makes  me  afraid  too. 
Oh  !  why  did  you  deceive  us  so  ?" 

"  I  only  deceived  myself.  A  foolish  habit,  formed 
in  pique,  of  affecting  not  to  hear,  adhered  to  me  long 
before  we  were  acquainted.  If  you  will  let  me  drive  you 
out  into  the  country  to-morrow  I  will  tell  you  the 
whole  of  my  silly  story.  The  country  roads  are  what 
you  need,  and  I  need  your  consideration  as  much." 

The   next   day  a   buggy  stopped  at  the  door,  and 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         269 

Podge,  sitting  at  the  window  with  her  bonnet  on,  saw 
Duff  Salter,  hale  and  strong,  holding  the  reins.  She 
was  helped  into  the  buggy  by  Andrew  Zane,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  the  two  were  in  the  open  country  pointing 
toward  old  Frankford.  They  rode  up  the  long  stony 
street  of  that  old  village,  whose  stone  or  rough-cast 
houses  suggested  the  Swiss  city  of  Basle  whence  the 
early  settlers  of  Frankfoid  came.  Then  turning 
through  the  factory  dale  called  Little  Britain,  they 
sped  out  the  lane,  taking  the  general  direction  of 
Tacony  Creek,  and  followed  that  creek  up  through 
different  little  villages  and  mill-seats  until  they  came 
to  nearly  the  highest  mill-pond,  in  the  stony  region 
about  the  Old  York  road.  A  house  of  gray  and  red 
dish  stones,  in  irregular  forms,  mortised  in  white  plas 
ter,  sat  broadside  to  the  lawn  before  it,  which  was  cov 
ered  with  venerable  trees,  and  bordered  at  the  roadside 
by  a  stone  rampart,  so  that  it  looked  like  a  hanging 
lawn.  A  gate  at  the  lawn-side  gave  admission  to  a 
lane,  behind  which  was  the  ancient  mill-pond  suspend 
ed  in  a  dewy  landscape,  with  a  path  in  the  grass  lead 
ing  up  the  mill-race,  and  on  the  pond  a  little  scow 
floated  in  pond-lilies.  All  around  were  chestnut  trees, 
their  burrs  full  of  fruit.  Across  the  lane,  only  a  few 
feet  from  the  house,  the  ancient  mill  gave  forth  a  snor 
ing  and  drumming  together  as  if  the  spirit  of  solitude 
was  having  a  dance  all  to  itself  and  only  breathing 
hard.  Then  the  crystal  water,  shooting  the  old  black 
mill-wheel,  fell  off  it  like  the  beard  from  Duff  Sailer's 
face,  and  went  away  in  pools  and  flakes  across  a 
meadow,  under  spontaneous  willow  trees  which  liked 
to  stand  in  moisture  and  cover  with  their  roots  the 


270         THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

harmless  water-snakes.     A  few  cottages  peeped  over 
the  adjacent  lidges  upon  the  hidden  dale. 

"  What  a  restful  place  !"  exclaimed  Podge  Byerly. 
"  I  almost  wish  I  might  be  spirit  of  a  mill,  or  better 
still,  that  old  boat  yonder  basking  in  the  pond-lilies 
and  holding  up  its  shadow  !" 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  it,"  said  Duff  Salter.  "  Let 
us  go  in  and  see  if  the  house  is  hospitable." 

As  Podge  Byerly  walked  up  the  worn  stone  walk  of 
the  lawn  she  saw  a  familiar  image  at  the  door — her 
mother. 

'You  here,  mother?"  said  Podge.  "What  is  the 
meaning  of  it  ?" 

'  This  is  my  house,  my  darling.  There  is  our 
friend  who  gave  it  to  us.  You  will  need  to  teach  no 
more.  The  mill  and  a  little  farm  surrounding  us  will 
make  us  independent." 

Podge  turned  to  Duff  Salter. 

"  How  kind  of  you  !"  she  said.  "  Yet  it  frightens 
me  the  more.  These  surprises,  tender  as  they  are,  ex 
cite  me.  Everything  about  you  is  mysterious.  You 
are  not  even  deaf  as  you  were.  What  silly  things  you 
may  have  heard  us  say." 

"  Dear  girl,"  exclaimed  Duff  Salter,  "  nothing  which 
I  heard  from  your  lips  ever  affected  me  except  to  love 
you.  You  cured  me  of  years  of  suspicion,  and  I  con 
sented  to  hear  again.  The  world  grew  candid  to  me  ; 
its  sounds  were  melodious,  its  silence  was  sincere.  It 
is  you  who  are  deaf.  You  cannot  hear  my  heart." 

"  I  hear  no  other's,  at  least,"  said  Podge.  '  Tell 
me  the  story  of  your  strange  deceit." 

They  drew  chairs  upon  the  lawn.     Podge  took  off 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         271 

her  bonnet  and  looked  very  delicate  as  her  color  rose 
and  faded  alternately  in  the  emotions  of  one  wooed  in 
earnest  and  uncertain  of  her  fate. 

"  I  have  not  come  by  money  without  hard  labor," 
said  the  hale  and  handsome  man.  "  This  gray  beard 
is  not  the  creation  of  many  years.  It  is  the  fruit  of 
anxiety,  toil,  and  danger.  My  years  are  not  double 
yours." 

;'  You  have  recovered  at  least  one  of  your  faculties 
since  I  knew  you/'  said  Podge  slyly. 

'  You  mean  hearing.  The  sense  of  feeling  too, 
perhaps — which  you  have  lost.  But  this  is  my  tale  : 
After  I  went  to  Mexico,  and  became  the  superintendent 
of  a  mine,  I  found  my  nature  growing  hard  and  my 
manner  imperious,  not  unlike  those  of  my  dead  friend, 
William  Zane.  The  hot  climate  of  Mexico  and  con 
finement  in  the  mines,  hundreds  of  feet  below  the  sur 
face  and  in  the  salivating  fumes  of  the  cinnabar  retorts, 
assisted  to  make  me  impetuous.  I  fought  more  than 
one  duel,  and,  like  all  men  who  do  desperate  things, 
grew  more  desperate  by  experience  until,  upon  one  oc 
casion,  I  was  made  deaf  by  an  explosion  in  the  bowels 
of  the  ground.  For  one  year  I  could  hear  but  little. 
In  that  year  I  was  comparatively  humble,  and  one  day 
I  heard  a  workman  say,  '  If  the  boss  gets  his  hearing 
back  there  will  be  no  peace  about  the  mine.'  This  set 
me  to  thinking.  '  How  much  of  my  suspicion  and 
anger,'  I  said,  '  is  the  result  of  my  own  speaking.  I 
provoked  the  distemper  of  which  I  am  afflicted.  I 
start  the  inquiries  which  make  me  distrustful.  I  hear 
the  echo  of  my  own  idle  words,  and  impeach  my  fellow- 
man  upon  it.  Until  I  find  a  strong  reason  for  speech,  I 


272          THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON. 

will  remain  deaf  as  I  have  been.'  That  strong  reason 
never  arrived,  my  little  girl,  until  all  reason  ceased  to 
be  and  love  supplanted  it." 

'  There  is  no  reason,  then,  in  your  present  passion," 
said  Podge  dryly. 

"  No.  I  am  so  absolutely  in  love  that  there  is  no 
resisting  it.  It  is  boyishness  wholly." 

"  I  think  I  should  be  afraid  of  a  man,"  said  Podge, 
"  who  could  have  so  much  will  as  to  hold  his  tongue 
for  seven  years.  Suppose  you  had  a  second  attack,  it 
might  never  come  to  an  end.  What  were  you  thinking 
about  all  that  time  ?" 

"  I  thought  how  deaf,  blind,  and  dumb  was  any  one 
without  love.  I  found  the  world  far  better  than  it  had 
seemed  when  I  was  one  of  its  chatterers.  By  my  vol 
untary  silence  I  had  banished  the  disturbing  element 
in  Nature  ;  for  our  enemy  is  always  within  us,  not 
without.  In  that  seven  years,  for  most  of  which  I 
heard  everything  and  answered  none,  except  by  my 
pencil,  I  was  prosperous,  observant,  sober,  and  consid 
erate.  The  deceit  of  affecting  not  to  hear  has  brought 
its  penalty,  however.  You  are  afraid  of  me." 

"  Were  you  ever  in  love  before  ?" 

"  I  fear  I  will  surprise  you  again  by  my  answer,'' 
said  Duff  Salter.  "  I  once  proposed  marriage  to  a 
young  gill  on  this  very  lawn.  It  was  in  the  spring 
time  of  my  life.  We  met  at  a  picnic  in  a  grove  not  far 
distant.  She  was  a  coquette,  and  forgot  me." 

Podge  said  she  must  have  time  to  know  her  heart. 
Every  day  they  made  a  new  excursion,  now  into  the 
country  of  the  Neshaminy,  and  beyond  it  to  the  vales 
of  the  Tohicken  and  Perkiomen.  They  descended  the 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         273 

lanes  along  the  Pennypack  and  Poqessing,  and  followed 
the  Wissahickon  to  its  sources.  Podge  rapidly  grew  in 
form  and  spirits,  and  Agnes  and  Andrew  Zane  came 
out  to  spend  a  Saturday  with  them. 

Mean  time  Andrew  Zane  was  in  a  mystic  condition 
— uncertain  of  purpose,  serious,  and  studious,  and  he 
called  one  night  at  the  Treaty  tavern  to  see  Duff  Sal- 
ter.  Duff  had  gone,  however,  up  the  Tacony,  and  in 
a  listless  way  Andrew  sauntered  over  to  the  little  monu 
ment  erected  on  the  alleged  site  of  the  Indian  treaty. 
He  read  the  inscription  aloud  : 

"  Treaty  Ground  of  William  Penn  and  the  Indian 
Nations,  1682.  Unbroken  Faith!  Pennsylvania, 
founded  by  deeds  of  Peace  !" 

As  Andrew  ceased  he  looked  up  and  beheld  a  man 
of  rather  portly  figure,  with  the  plain  clothes  of  a 
Quaker,  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  knee-breeches,  and 
buckled  shoes.  Something  in  his  countenance  was 
familiar.  Andrew  looked  again,  and  wondered  where 
he  had  seen  that  face.  It  then  occurred  to  him  that  it 
was  the  exact  likeness  of  William  Penn.  The  man 
looked  at  Andrew  and  said, 

"  Thee  is  called  to  preach  !" 

"  Sir  ?"  exclaimed  Andrew. 

In  the  same  tone  of  voice  the  man  exclaimed, 

"  Thee  is  called  to  preach  !" 

Andrew  looked  with  some  slight  superstition  at  the 
peculiar  man,  with  such  a  tone  of  authority,  and  said 
again,  but  respectfully  : 

"  Do  I  understand  you  as  speaking  to  me,  sir  ?" 

"  Thee  is  called  to  preach  !"  said  the  object,  in  pre 
cisely  the  same  tone  of  voice,  and  vanished. 


274          THE  DEAF  MAN   OF  KENSINGTON. 

Andrew  Zane  walked  across  to  the  hotel  and  saw 
Duff  Salter,  freshly  arrived,  looking  at  him  intently. 

"  Did  you  see  a  person  in  Quaker  dress  standing  by 
the  monument  an  instant  past  ?" 

"  I  saw  nobody  but  yourself,"  said  Duff  heartily. 
"  I  have  been  looking  at  you  some  moments." 

"  As  truly  as  I  live,  a  man  in  Quaker  dress  spoke  to 
me  at  the  monument's  side." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?" 

"  He  said  three  times,  deliberately,  '  Thee  is  called 
to  preach !  '  : 

"  That's  queer,"  said  Duff,  looking  curiously  at  An 
drew.  "  My  friend,  that  man  spoke  from  within  you. 
Do  you  know  that  it  is  the  earnest  desire  of  your  wife, 
and  a  subject  of  her  prayers,  that  you  may  become  a 
minister  ?" 

"  I  didn't  know  it,"  said  Andrew.  "  But  there  is 
something  startling  in  this  apparition.  I  shall  never 
be  able  to  forget  it." 

To  the  joy  of  Agnes,  now  a  happy  wife  and  mother, 
her  husband  went  seriously  into  the  church,  and  the 
moment  his  intention  was  announced  of  entering  the 
ministry,  there  arose  a  spontaneous  and  united  wish 
that  he  would  take  the  pulpit  in  his  native  suburb. 

"  Agnes,"  said  the  young  man,  "  the  dangers  I  have 
passed,  the  tragedy  of  my  family,  your  piety  and  my 
feelings,  all  concur  in  this  step.  I  feel  a  new  life  within 
me,  now  that  I  have  settled  upon  this  design." 

"  I  would  rather  see  you  a  good  minister  than  Presi 
dent,"  exclaimed  Agnes.  "  The  desires  of  my  heart 
are  fully  answered  now.  When  you  saw  the  image  stand 
ing  by  the  Treaty  tree  at  that  instant  I  .was  upon  my 


THE  DEAF  MAN  OF  KENSINGTON.         275 


knees  asking  God  to  turn  your  heart  toward  the  minis 
try." 

"  Here  in  Kensington,"  spoke  Andrew,  "  we  will  live 
down  all  imputation  and  renew  our  family  name. 
Here,  where  we  made  our  one  mistake,  we  will  labor  for 
others  who  err  and  suffer.  Such  an  escape  as  ours  can 
be  celebrated  by  nothing  less  than  religion." 

Duff  Salter  went  to  Tacony  for  the  last  time  on  the 
Sunday  Andrew  Zane  entered  the  church.  He  did  not 
speak  a  word,  but  at  the  appearance  of  Podge  Byerly 
drew  out  the  ancient  ivory  tablets  and  wrote  : 

"  I'll  never  speak  again  until  you  accept  or  refuse 
me." 

She  answered,  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  if  I  say 
no  ?" 

"  I  have  bought  two  tickets  for  Europe,"  wrote 
Duff  Salter.  "  One  is  for  you,  if  you  will  accept  it. 
If  not  I  shall  go  alone  and  be  deaf  for  the  remainder 
of  my  days." 

Podge  answered  by  reaching  out  her  lips  and  kissing 
Duff  Salter  plumply. 

'  There,"  she  said,  "  I've  done  it  !" 

Duff  Salter  threw  the  tablets  away,  and  standing  up 
in  a  glow  of  excitement,  gave  with  great  unction  his  last 
articulate  sneeze  : 

"  Jericho  !     Jericho  !" 


THE  DEAD  BOHEMIAN. 


THE  DEAD  BOHEMIAN. 


MY  hope  to  take  his  hand, 

His  world  my  promised  land, 
I  thought  no  face  so  beautiful  and  high. 

When  he  had  called  me  "  Friend," 

I  reached  ambition's  end, 
And  Art's  protection  in  his  kindly  eye. 

My  dream  was  quickly  run — 

I  knew  Endymion  ; 
His  wing  was  fancy  and  his  soarings  play  ; 

No  great  thirsts  in  him  pent, 

His  hates  were  indolent, 
His  graces  calm  and  eloquent  alway. 

Not  love's  converse  now  seems 

So  tender  to  my  dreams 
As  he,  discursive  at  our  mutual  desk, 

Most  fervid  and  most  ripe, 

When  dreaming  at  his  pipe, 
He  made  the  opiate  nights  grow  Arabesque. 

His  crayon  never  sharp, 

No  discord  in  his  harp, 
He  made  such  sweetness  I  was  discontent  ; 

He  knew  not  the  desire 

To  rise  from  warmth  to  fire, 
And  with  his  magic  rend  the  firmament. 


280  THE  DEAD  BOHEMIAN. 

Perhaps  some  want  of  faith, 

Perhaps  some  past  heart-scath, 
Took  from  his  life  the  zest  of  reaching  far — 

And  so  grew  my  regret. 

To  see  my  pride  forget 
That  many  watched  him  like  a  risen  star. 

Some  moralist  in  man — 

Even  Bohemian — • 
Feathers  the  pen  and  nerves  the  archer  too. 

Not  dear  decoying  art, 

But  the  crushed,  loving  heart, 
Makes  the  young  life  to  its  resolves  untrue. 

Therefore  his  haunts  were  sad  ; 

Therefore  his  rhymes  were  glad  ; 
Therefore  he  laughed  at  my  repioach  and  goad- 

With  listless  dreams  and  vague, 

Passed  not  the  walls  of  Prague, 
To  hew  some  fresh  and  individual  road. 

Still  like  an  epic  round, 

With  beautifulness  crowned, 
I  read  his  memory,  tenderer  every  year, 

Complete  with  graciousness, 

Gifted  and  purposeless, 
But  to  my  heart  as  some  grand  Master  dear. 


THE    END. 


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